


The Courtship of Kate Kane

by swindalynn



Series: Red Wonder [3]
Category: Batwoman (Comic), DCU (Comics), Wonder Woman (Comics)
Genre: -everyone- learns all you need is love, Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Diana is a switch, Established Relationship, F/F, Humor, Romance, Some Swearing, You got a permission slip for this feels trip?, canon typical action, dealing with fear trust love desire and everything in between maybe, hurt/comfort in the middle, no really, some sexual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 134,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swindalynn/pseuds/swindalynn
Summary: Diana and Kate begin formal courtship according to Amazon custom. This includes completing specific criteria set forth by the Amazon’s patron gods, trials designed to force a couple apart. The trial assigned Diana by Athena is one so difficult it threatens to strip her of her entire identity as Diana and as Wonder Woman.Both she and Kate will have to weather their trial together or fall apart trying.





	1. The Recitation pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this solely to have fun coming up with courtship rituals. I'd just come off writing To Come Up Breathing and ran with Diana and Kate (because for such a huge iconic queer character, she has zero canonical female love interests, which to this day pisses me off). Then it turned into ...this. Breathing and Incidental Happenings are referenced, but not necessary.
> 
> This story is for Mythos, the Kate to my Diana.

She often forgets how beautiful Themyscira is until she witnesses someone else see it for the first time.   
They had arrived an hour ago and have only seen a small portion, but already Kate looks as delighted as Diana had hoped she would be. This is her home, her source of self. She knows the air and the earth here, knows the sounds that catch her attention, and she likes seeing Kate swaddled in all of it. It does her soul good to share it with someone she loves.

Philippus' guard escorts them through the city, flanked on both ends, every single one of them carrying a polished sword and spear. It's an extravagant reaction, but observance of ceremony and reverence of ritual runs deep in their blood, especially when outside eyes are upon them. Diana is sure it would only make Kate uneasy if she were to know that all this decorum is for her.

The procession causes the Themysciran amazons they pass to pause in their daily lives and stare. There are whispers up and down the crowd of women who watch, excitement of the return of their princess, curiosity at the woman by her side. No one, not even Diana, can think of a time she has ever brought someone important home.

Diana is used to the attention and so is Kate to an extent, but this is not Gotham and they are not walking into a glitzy ballroom. They are walking up to the queen's court, to Diana's mother, Hippolyta.

On her left, Kate presses close to her and whispers. “Maybe it's because I'm not from around here, but I swear a few of your sisters are sending me death glares. Old girlfriends, maybe?” 

“Some, yes.” Diana smiles at her, places a hand on her waist and draws her a half step closer so there is no mistaking their relationship. “Don't pay them any mind. They know not to touch you.”

“Aren't I lucky then,” Kate says, catching the eye of one of the watching amazons and trying to decipher her expression.

“I'm sure some of them are thinking just that.” 

Kate turns her head to look at her, gaping a little. “I think that's the cockiest thing I've ever heard you say.”

Kate is one of the few people who can draw out a smile from her despite whatever hardship she might be facing. It's something Diana adores about her, something she misses when they spend too much time apart. Despite their two years, their obligations keep them residing in their own separate cities and, depending on what business the Justice League is involved in, they can go months without seeing each other. It's why the phone has become so important for them.

They are escorted through the grand doors of the palace and the crowd of onlookers stop at the door, continuing to watch until the doors are closed again. Then, they are shown to the throne room, where Kate steps from Diana's side to explore the grand architecture and ornamental fixtures, a soft whistle escaping her lips. 

There is the sound of sandals and leather boots on smooth stone behind them and Diana turns to see her mother enter the room with her consort Philippus just behind her. The sight of them both soothes her wandering heart. 

“Diana, my precious daughter, welcome home.” Hippolyta hugs her as she always does, as if it is both the first and the last time she will do so. “You have been gone much too long.”

Philippus hugs Diana like she is the child she never bore but mothered anyway. She pats Diana on the back and catches sight of Kate over her shoulder. 

“And who is this?” Philippus asks, placing a hand on Hippolyta's shoulder to calm the excitement both she and Diana know is bubbling inside her.

Diana steps away from them and extends her hand to Kate who takes it without a word. She brings her to her side and notices how, for once in her life, her brave Kate Kane looks a little nervous. She squeezes her shoulders in encouragement and offers her a smile, before turning back to her mother.

“This is my heart, mother, Katherine Kane. Kate.” 

The words barely leave her mouth when Hippolyta sweeps Kate off her feet into an embrace that takes her completely off guard. 

“It's so good to meet you, Kate,” she says, finally releasing her and trailing her fingers in her red hair. “And your hair! How fierce.” 

“It's nice to meet you too,” Kate says unevenly as the queen of the amazons admires her locks. Awkwardly, she looks at Diana and then back at Hipppolyta. “And thank you ...your highness?”

“Call me Polly.” Hippolyta says and when Kate offers her an unsure smile, she laughs and amends. “At the very least, Hippolyta is fine.”

It's been a long time since Diana has seen her mother so delighted and almost never that she's seen Kate flustered so badly that she can't help but laugh. She had hoped her mother would receive Kate well, but she hadn't expected her to be this delighted.

“You still cling to ancient standards, Lyta,” Philippus says, nodding to Diana as they both step in between and rescue Kate. “This is no longer the time when hair like the angry sun marked a warrior's ferocity.” 

“And you misplace your humor, Philippus.” Hippolyta pats her on the cheek affectionately and then begins to lead them away. “Well, come now. I wish to show Diana the preparations.”

“You heard that, princess? Fierce. From the mouth of your own mother.” Kate nudges Diana with an elbow, stepping in line with them as if she has always walked with them. Then says louder for the other two to hear, “Recitation?”

“Have you not told her anything about this, Diana?” Hippolyta looks nearly scandalized at Diana over her shoulder. 

Philippus places a calm hand on her shoulder and gently says, “Lyta.” 

It's uncharacteristic of Diana to search for words, but she does now, trying to find the right balance that satisfies Hippolyta's inquiry, but doesn't hint of anything more. She doesn't want to get her hopes up. She has seen her mother's disappointment one too many times regarding the recitation when every year it happens she has to tell her, no, she is not taking part in the rite, and no, she does not have someone worthy in her life to even consider it. Before Hippolyta can press more, Kate steps forward with her usual confident charm and saves her. 

“She hasn't, but that's why we're here, isn't it?” she says. “For me to learn?” 

“I must acquiesce to your assessment, Kate Kane. I will let her tell you in her time,” Hippolyta says, gives Diana a look of mild disappointment before wrapping an arm around Kate's. “In the mean time, let me show you the preparations.” 

She whisks Kate away before either she or Diana can protest through a set of doors into an open air courtyard where an amphitheater stands on the far side. Diana watches them, slightly concerned about what Hippolyta will tell her. 

“I'm afraid she has the wrong idea.” 

“I'm not so sure she has,” Philippus dares to say as they both begin to follow. “The one year you agree to oversee the recitation, you bring a paramour home and call her your heart. It also happens to be the same year you think we didn't notice you visit the crystal caves. Diana, it was not difficult to piece together.”

The way Philippus sees through her shouldn't surprise Diana as much as it does now. She always could look beyond her actions and see their intentions. This is why she was the one who taught Diana to be aware and respectful of the gifts the gods bestowed her. She is the one who taught her that she must be more than her fists, smarter than her vanity, and motivated by her passion. The foundation of everything Wonder Woman is has been carefully built by Philippus since Diana was young. 

“Do you plan to recite tomorrow?” Philippus asks her. 

“I haven't decided yet,” she says, watching her mother lead Kate along the open stage and pointing out the large olive oil lamps that dot the amphitheater. “Weren't you the one who took a decade to decide?”

“Yes, but I was a mere general courting the queen, Diana.” Philippus laughs. “Our circumstances are not comparable.”

Diana bows her head. “Forgive me, Philippus. It must have taken all your courage to speak her name with the eyes of the tribe upon you.”

“And then some.” 

Philippus brings them to a tree that shadows a small rock wall and leans against it, plucking a fallen leaf from the stone beside her.

“I have gleaned most of it from the stories of others,” Diana says, joining her by the wall, “but I would like to hear in your words what happened.” 

Philippus laughs and hangs her head, smiling at the leaf in a fondness that only time can bring.

“She made me wait,” she says. “She let me stand there until the shock died and the amphitheater was silent as death. I still remember the way she spied me from her seat with a face of stone, as a queen should be. I thought I was denied.”

“It's difficult to believe you would have ever recited if you thought she wouldn't respond.” 

Philippus nods in consideration and twirls the leaf in thought. Finally, she says, “It's not just the pursuant who must be brave, Diana. You must remember. The pursued is put on the spot as well. It's one thing to steal sweet kisses when no one is looking. It's quite another to admit you've done so before the whole tribe, especially when others have said her name before.”

“She has denied others?” Diana is surprised at this. For as long as she can remember, Philippus has been at her mother's side. 

“Several.”

“Is that why you were so quick to assume you had been as well?”

Philippus laughs.

“There was nothing quick about my assumption. I stood there for a painfully long while. She did not stand until I turned to retake my place in line. If I didn't hear the gasps, I may not have stopped to look. Your mother, Diana ...gods, your mother.” She chuckles at the memory. “She moved with the grace and purpose of Artemis on the hunt, with such prepossessing splendor. Until you were born, she had no equal.”

“Even now, she doesn't,” Diana says, touching her shoulder.

The leaf flutters from her fingers to the ground and they both turn their gaze across the courtyard where Hippolyta is showing Kate the floral arrangements, accented with Demeter's golden wheat, and Diana can't imagine the topic is very engaging to Kate. Perhaps she should go save her. She turns back to thank Philippus for the story and finds a stern expression on her face. 

“Decide quickly, Diana, before Hippolyta sets her heart on that one,” Philippus tells her. “The sooner you break her heart, the sooner she will recover.”

Diana nods almost like a child being scolded, but it's clear how heavy the words are. She wonders how frequently she has broken her mother's heart simply by finding no one compelling enough to court, wonders why that is something that would break it at all. There are times like this that remind Diana how much she doesn't understand her mother at all.

Hippolyta now escorts Kate back their way and has linked their hands. She is delighted and oblivious to how awkward Kate finds this because she hides it well with her usual confident airs. If there were ever an image that sums up these two women to Diana, it's this one. Both Diana and Philippus push off the way to straighten as they near. Kate looks amused and relieved to see her.

“And I return you now to Diana,” Hippolyta says, offering Diana Kate's hand theatrically. “You must be tired from the journey. Rest for today. Tomorrow night, everything begins.”

As they turn to part ways Philippus once again gives Diana an exacting look, a command from her oldest teacher and second mother. Decide tonight, it says. Diana only manages a nod in response before she feels Kate's hand lead her away.

“So, amazon courtship, huh?” Kate asks following her through a doorway into a hall. “Your mother seemed upset I didn't know anything.” 

“She believes it should be more of a priority to me.” 

“Yeah. She told me all about that. Mothers are good for that reminder,” Kate says, folding her hands to the back of her head. “All of the hidden meaning in just the decoration makes it feel very formal.”

“It is formal,” Diana tells her as they make their way back down the hallways of the palace. “Courting is between one amazon and another in private affairs. Courtship is a sanctioned pursuit of two courted amazons to pair bond. It's not taken lightly.”

“So not exactly like proposal and engagement?” Kate asks as they turn a corner. 

Diana thinks for a minute and then says, “It's not unlike that in general. Unlike a marriage, a pair bond is a literal linking of souls. It's terribly intimate and difficult to dissolve. Unlike an engagement, a courtship doesn't end until a courted pair complete their assigned trial and each pair has its own unique criteria.”

“Criteria?” Kate drops her arms and glances at her, watching her profile as she leads her to a door at the end of the hallway. “What kind of criteria?” 

“I believe Philippus had to prove herself a worthy ruler without removing my mother from the throne.” Diana pulls the door open and lets her walk in first before following and letting it shut closed with its own weight. “My mother wasn't allowed to step down for just this reason. I believe they waited a couple hundred years?”

“You're joking.” Kate spins to look at her, shocked. “Who comes up with criteria like this?”

Diana laughs and leans casually against the wooden door. “The gods, Kate, our patrons. Who else can claim to sanction love?”

“Of course.” Kate makes a face and nods as she turns back around to look around the room Diana has brought

There is a bed on the far wall and small adornments hanging on the opposite. As Kate inspects a few items, Diana folds her arms across her chest and admires her. A child-sized practice sword and a beaten shield hang on the opposite wall, a pair of sandals Diana last wore just before she put on the costume of Wonder Woman for the first time rest on the floor beside a wardrobe. Leather bound books rest on a shelving unit that stands by the foot of the bed. 

“This is your room, isn't it?” Kate asks, trailing her fingers along the binding of the books and the woven fabric straps that tie them closed. When Diana doesn't answer, she looks at her and then flashes her sly smile. “You're staring, bat charmer.” 

“I meant to.”

Kate pretends not to notice Diana's even gaze and continues on her inspection, making a show of bending over to look at a large teal agate geode. 

“And everyone thinks you so chaste,” she says, melodically. “Boy, is the whole world wrong about you.”

Then she straightens and looks at her again almost as if she is seeing her for the first time, not as Wonder Woman, not as the pride of the amazons or the daughter of Hippolyta, their queen, but as Diana. It's the first time outside the gaze of her gods that Diana has ever felt so seen. It pulls on her heart in a way she hadn't expected.

“Themyscira is a place that is not concerned with the rest of the world,” Diana says casually, watching as Kate approaches.

“I see.” Kate humors her with a nod and brushes her fingers across her cheek. “And this room is a place that isn't concerned with the rest of Themyscira, right?” 

“Not right now, at least,” Diana says softly, standing from the door and taking hold of her hand. Her fingers gently trace the underside of Kate's jaw. “I would like to kiss you right now, Kate Kane.”

“Well, don't let me stop you then.”

With a smile, Diana uses her hand to draw her closer and kisses her.

 

Continued…

Next: The Recitation pt 2. Kate learns what the recitation is and what it signifies. Maybe she's surprised as well.


	2. The Recitation pt 2

In the early hours of the morning, just as the sun is cresting on the high cliffs of Themyscira, the amazon Derinoe watches Kate Kane come alive. It's in these hours that amazons solidify their bond with their patron god Athena and to each other through rigorous training. Raedne and Derinoe had seen Kate standing off to the side watching, left by herself while their princess attended to the queen. It was Raedne's idea to wave her over. Derinoe had remained skeptical.

At first the amazons humor this Kate, because she is someone important to their princess. Then they see why she is. Kate Kane does not hold back, does not over do, and does not give up. And she enjoys ever minute of it. Her focus is sharp and she is more agile than most present this morning. Derinoe finds she's quite a pleasure to watch. In some ways, she is coarse and undisciplined, but she makes up for it with purpose and resolve. She can take a hit as well as she can give one and when she hits, she means for it to hurt. By mid morning, Raedne is goading Kate with a new name.

“C'mon, Atea!” Raedne swiftly evades a fast elbow to her sternum, laughing. “You are the one who claims the princess. That cannot be all you have!”

Derinoe knows her sister is haughty and proud, but she also sees how Diana's Kate tightens her guard and strengthens her strikes after every fail. This Kate is observant, understands her mistakes, and most of all, she fixes them fast and keeps coming.

During mid morning break, Kate lets herself collapse on the grass beneath a tree with some of the others, every muscle on fire, sweat dripping from her temples, and chest heaving for breath, but her eyes are alert and her smile is bright. Raedne sits down beside her and Derinoe hands her a cup of water and looks impressed. 

“I was sure we would have your breakfast at your feet within the hour,” Raedne says leaning back on her hands, grinning. “Atea surprises once again.”

“I'm not gonna lie. I thought you would too,” Kate says after a long drink. “And you keep calling me that. How insulted should I be?”

“Atea atakanii,” Derinoe answers calmly, leaning on the trunk of a tree, mindful of the space around Kate. “The unrelenting dawn. Like your hair and your spirit.”

Kate considers this for a moment, flattered. “Sounds like an amazon.” 

Raedne laughs loudly and claps a hand heavy against her back. “There. We have named you.” 

“We were under the impression that women were not trained as warriors beyond our shores,” Derinoe says. 

“A lot changes in a few thousand years.” Kate finishes the water and sets the cup on the grass beside her. “But I'm not a warrior. I'm a soldier. I'm trained for strategy and tactics, combat operations more so than combat. Well, not combat like yours, anyway.”

“Stay here long enough and we can fix that.”

“Don't tempt me,” Kate says with a smile and then looks out onto the green hills that plummet to blue ocean. She lifts her chin and wipes sweat from her neck with a palm and leans back mirroring Raedne beside her. “I wish I could tell fifteen-year old me she'd find herself here one day...”

Derinoe watches Kate as she takes in the nature around her. When she and Diana had first arrived, she moved with a tautness of a warrior a hundred days at war, but now the strain in her shoulders and the weight in eyes is lifting. If one day here could make such a difference, imagine if she had more. She thinks it's a waste that Kate of the dawn was born off island. 

When the break is over, Kate stands and stretches out her limbs. Raedne tosses her a staff, flashes her a haughty smile, and says,“What say you? Think you can face our best with a staff?”

“I could make her work for a win,” Kate says with an arrogant cock of her head. “What's this ace's name?”

“Her name is Diana, Kate, and she accepts your challenge.” 

Derinoe would recognize this voice anywhere. Everyone knows it's her before they see her. Behind them, Diana stands with a staff of her own, neatly held at an angle against her back and her attention rests only on Kate. Kate straightens, balances the staff on her shoulders and hangs her hands from her wrists on it. She tilts her head to the side to spy Diana from the corner of her eye. 

“Diana, huh? Is she any good?” she asks with a grin. “I have high standards.”

The smile on Diana's face is spirited and competitive. She has always enjoyed a good spar and a friendly challenge, but this time, her eyes gleam with excitement. Derinoe knows. Their princess is utterly smitten and her Kate looks just the same.

Diana says, “I'm sure she meets your standards.”

There has never been more excitement and commotion over a midmorning bout than this one. Raedne and all the amazons present are cheering and even Derinoe feels the giddy energy that surrounds her. Shrill whistles pierce the air, but the two in the center ignore it all, posed to fight, but watching, waiting. Everyone knows how this match will end, even Kate, but the outcome is not the draw. It is the quiet before, the anticipation for the moment the tense calm is broken, and the game it is guessing which one will break it first. 

Derinoe misses who moves first but it quickly doesn't matter. She watches this match as she watches all others, looking for its rhythm. A spar is a like a dance, every movement on one side has a counter on the other. The lines of the body can spell the difference between a successful block and a broken wrist, a sword on target or inches off. Then Diana steps into an attack instead of away, catching Kate's staff with her left bracer, toward the middle where the force is less. It only takes two more moves before Kate is knocked off balance, staff dropping to the grass, and Diana scoops an arm at her waist to catch her, like the dip at the end of a dance. 

Kate's chest heaves with effort as she takes a moment to catch her breath. Then she pulls Diana down for a kiss so fierce it makes their audience roar. Derinoe is the only one who is still quietly watching. She was wrong. She had missed it completely. This match was not a dance at all. It was, as all good dances are, a thinly veiled stand-in for something much more intimate. The thought makes her blush and look away. 

-

When the sun is highest in the sky, Kate watches as some amazons gather in the courtyard where the large gates are opened. Not too long afterward, a small group of women emerge from the thick tree line, hiking up the last stretch of hill to the gates and the women who wait for them.

“Who are they?” Kate asks, slipping between women and packs as she follows Diana.

“They're the pursuing amazons,” Diana says as the group is welcomed. “They have been gone at least a week, journeyed to the crystal caves and back. The round trip alone takes six days, but I'm not sure how long this group stayed in the caves. Every group is different.”

“What's so important about the caves?” 

“Even here, Kate, if one proposes a lifelong bond, there is an offering with that request. You have diamond rings. Here, we have quartz. It's given to your chosen at the recitation.”

Kate takes a seat on a carved stone bench and watches as the travelers set down packs. They are presented with a basin of water to rinse their faces and hands. They look travel weary, but accomplished.

“Recitation, huh? Are you finally going to tell me what that is?”

“It's the ceremony where one amazon proposes a courtship to another,” Diana says, taking a seat beside Kate on the bench. “It's why we are here, to bear witness.”

“Wait, you mean, they have to do it in front of the whole tribe?” Kate looks at her in sympathetic dismay. 

“Yes.” 

“But what happens if the answer is 'no'?” 

“Hurt, Kate, and then healing.” 

Kate lets the air out of her lungs in a slow blow and says, “Brutal. How does someone even know if another is already bonded?” 

She notices how Diana pauses, watches as her eyes scan the crowd until she finds what she's looking for. She points to a pair standing close and chatting with one of the travelers.

“Do you see the piece of armor on their hands?” Diana asks her. 

Kate had seen them around the island, what she thought had been jewelry. They are plated, articulated lengths of metal on the back of their hands, extending like intricate tendrils to the first knuckles of the fingers. It is fastened at the wrist and each digit, leaving the palms and the underside of each finger free. It looks sleek and fashionable, but Kate didn't know it was functional as well.

“That's armor?” she asks, skeptically. 

Diana looks amused. “It can stop a broad sword mid swing, fortifies your wrist, and acts as brass knuckles on your weaker hand. It can easily be worn beneath a pair of gloves and with a shield and does not interfere with your life outside battle.” 

Kate lifts a foot to the bench and intertwines her fingers around her knee as she gives a slow nod of consideration. 

“Practical. Makes sense,” she says. “How does the quartz fit in?” 

She feels Diana reach over and coaxes one of her hands free, flipping it over palm up. Softly, she traces the line along the inside of her wrist, just below her palm. 

“It's placed here on the guard, above the pulse,” she says, letting her fingers linger, “and even that has purpose.” 

“Let me guess, added protection?” Kate asks with a sarcastic smirk, but her voice is soft with reverence.

Diana's laugh is breathy and quiet. She says, “In a way. Quartz can create a small electric current when pressed. Did you know? When withstanding a powerful blow, your weaker hand covers your stronger one, to protect your ability to continue the fight.” 

Diana lifts her fists and crosses her wrists in the way Kate has seen her do perhaps a hundred times. It is the pose the whole world has seen her do, the cross of Wonder Woman. 

Then she taps the underside of her wrist to her right bracer and says, “Pressure.” 

Kate's jaw drops as she stares at her.

“No way. You're _joking_!” She smacks her shoulder and it makes Diana laugh as she drops her hands. She tosses her head back and laments. “I want one so bad now. Can you imagine wielding that in Gotham? Gotham!” 

Beside her, Diana merely muses. “You've been noticed by a few of my sisters. Perhaps you'll be lucky some day and one of them will recite your name.” 

“And trade you out for her?” Kate laughs. “No offense to any of your sisters, Diana, but if it's not you, then what's the point?” 

She leans back on her hands and takes in a breath. The call of a bird somewhere above grabs her attention and she lifts her eyes to try to find it. Diana looks at her, conflicting thoughts showing through her furrowed eyebrows. 

Carefully, she says, “You would want me to court you?” 

“If it's something we both want,” Kate says, almost too casually. “I always thought I would be the one getting down on one knee, but I might be out of my depth in all this amazon ceremony, so it would have to be you.” 

Diana nods quietly. “I think you're right, Kate.” 

“That's Katherine Kane of the Unrelenting Dawn to you.” Kate tries to say that with a straight face, but fails and she has to scold Diana for laughing at her. “Full disclosure, though, eventually I'd like to be married, so if that's not in your future plans, now's your chance to run away.” 

“I'll wait until you aren't looking.” 

“Ouch, bat charmer. Ouch.” 

-

The rite of recitation happens after the sun sets, beneath the light of Artemis' moon. Athena's oil lamps burn bright and light up the amphitheater in soft golden light. Hippolyta has ensured a seat for Kate beside her at the end of the staggered stone seating and when she takes it, she notices the hand guard Hippolyta wears on her left. It makes Kate feel a little more like a part of all of this. Surprisingly, she doesn't see as many hand guards amongst the women as she would have guessed and wonders about it for a minute. 

“Does this happen every year?” Kate asks Hippolyta while the crowd still settles around them.

“Not every year. It's something we amazons think very carefully on,” Hippolyta tells her as she scans the crowd quickly. She sees Philippus and catches her attention. Then she returns to Kate. “I've just about given up on both my daughters participating at all.”

“Where is Donna anyway?” Kate asks. “Shouldn't she be here too?”

“She has told us that there is some great evil she must defeat,” Hippolyta says with an air of disbelief. “Both of them make such a fuss when it comes to this. I don't understand.” 

Kate notes to herself that Hippolyta is probably one of those mothers, the ones who are more excited for proposals and bridal showers than their children, but the idea of Diana warding off such conversations strikes her funny bone. So, even Wonder Woman has someone to nag her.

Below them, Diana steps into view of the lamp light. She is dressed in a polished formal version of her Wonder Woman armor with a blue cape fastened over her left shoulder. Kate had always known she was the daughter of a queen, but it's not until now that it actually sinks in. Diana leads the five travelers into view and all five of them line up along the back of the stage on the edge of the shadows, leaving only Diana in the middle where everyone can see her. She waits until the amphitheater is quiet before she addresses them. 

“The recitation is a calling, an acknowledgement of the greatest gift from our patron, Aphrodite.” Diana and all the amazons lower their head for a half beat of silence before she continues. “On this night, some of our own have come carrying hope in their hearts. Stand with them and bear witness as they offer that hope to another.”

Diana steps aside and extends an open palm to the first woman behind her. 

“Anaea, come. Stand and be seen. Speak and be heard.”

Anaea is tall and serious with light hair pulled back neat and tight. Kate watches as she steps into the light and looks into the crowd. She says one name. Orithia. Her stern expression softens when a woman stands and begins to make her way down the steps. Orithia is as elegant as her pursuer is severe. When she joins her, Anaea takes her hand tenderly in her own and then sinks to her knees. 

With great care, she turns Orithia's hand and lays a kiss on her palm. It is a tense, terribly intimate moment to witness. Anaea places the quartz in her palm and closes her fingers around it, then brings her lips to the underside of her wrist and kisses her pulse, laying claim to the place where her stone will be kept. Kate's breath catches in her chest as she remembers a hotel room and Diana's soft lips, the way she paused, and the troubled expression on her face. 

Oh. That's what happened, isn't it, Diana? This is why you stopped and ran away. Because kisses like that in those places mean something significant and you can't do something you don't mean. Kate grips her knee to keep her hand from shaking. 

The next four are less intense. A few cry, others laugh, some exchange words or hugs after the pulse is claimed. It's a relief to Kate to see how each pair individualizes their moment, how they show the rest of the tribe who they are together. The crowd is beginning to rouse. There is a feast awaiting them past the double doors beyond. It's Philippus who stands now, whose voice carries over the noise. 

“Diana, Princess of Themyscira, pride of us all,” she says and everyone stops. “Stand and be seen. Speak and be heard.” 

The hush that silences the crowd is deafening. Seats are retaken as Diana steps back into the lamp light. She lifts her head, catches Kate's gaze, and holds it for a long quiet moment. Hippolyta furiously pats Philippus' leg until she lets her hold her hand to squeeze. Kate stops breathing. 

“Katherine Kane,” Diana says and then offers a fond half-smile, “of the Unrelenting Dawn.” 

She places a loose fist to her chest and comes down to one knee, her cape spreading around her like a halo. Then she lowers her head and waits. 

Kate freezes. Her heart pounds in her ears and drowns out the crowd. She cannot move. Her chest swells with an unbearable ache. It's only when she feels Hippolyta's light touch that she breathes. Finally, she stands. When she descends the steps of the amphitheater, the audience watching fades, whispers and faces disappearing from her awareness. All she hears is her name on Diana's voice and all she sees is Diana, kneeling with her head bowed, waiting for her. 

Diana doesn't move when she steps before her. Kate reaches forward, fingers trembling, and rests her hand on her shoulder. At her touch, Diana nearly jumps, taking in a sharp breath, and Kate knows she is not the only one who has forgotten how to breathe. When Diana takes her hand, her breath catches at the back of her throat. The kiss on her palm makes her stiffen. The kiss on her pulse makes her shudder. Then she holds Kate's hand against her cheek and closes her eyes. 

“I almost thought you would not come.”

“Goddammit, Diana. Of course, I did.” Kate drops down to pull her into her arms. “Of course, I came to you.”

 

Continued...


	3. A Night of Last Joys

Diana first noticed how well they worked in battle. When she moved between offensive and defensive, Kate moved the opposite. She seemed to know which tactics Diana was implementing and positioned herself in the strategic places she was needed. It made Diana pay more attention to Kate's movement across the field, ready to distract or support anything she initiated as well. They were good together, she and Kate.

Then she noticed that, from their first meeting, Kate presented herself as a suitor with good-natured confidence, despite acknowledging she knew she had no chance. She was never afraid, never ashamed, and never unclear about her wants, nor did she hide them from view. Diana found it heartening, that consistent honesty, that transparency willingly offered without the Golden Perfect having to draw it out. Kate helped her see the humor in situations she would not have before, helped her put certain thoughts and feelings into combinations she never had considered.

Last, Diana noticed Kate is a person of contrasts, existing in the space between soaring self-confidence and corrosive self-contempt, and simultaneously believing and negating each for fear of going too far either way. Diana saw the struggle in her to maintain that balance and her reaction to it was a compulsion to help ease the strife, to help her be kind to herself, and perhaps most surprisingly, to love her until she remembered how much love she was capable, for others as well as herself.

So, Diana asked her assistance on an interstate drive and flirted back.

-

Diana watches Derinoe and Raedne teaching Kate the steps and the movements, finds it endearing how she listens enough to get the gist of it but adds her own Gotham night club flair, leaving Derinoe almost scandalized and Raedne a fit of laughs. Kate catches her attention and waves her over, but Diana smiles and shakes her head, gesturing to herself and the formal armor she still wears. Kate makes a face she's seen several times, a disappointment fueling a fierce determination, and she accents it with her hands on her hips and a raised eyebrow. A few amazons pass between them obstructing their view, but every time they pass, Kate has not backed down and neither has Diana. 

Diana catches the way Derinoe watches them, especially Kate, has noticed her fluctuating feelings since their match that morning. She is both proud and apologetic that Derinoe sees desirable things in Kate like she does.

Finally, Kate makes her away across the room, side stepping dancers and ignoring the piercing eyes of those who made it clear they are not fans of her, and stands before Diana.

“So, you can't dance in armor,” she says, arms folded across her chest. “I'll just have to get you out of it.”

Diana raises a suggestive eyebrow. 

“Not like that,” Kate says, taking her hand and leading her back toward the palace, “but maybe later, you'll get lucky.”

“I'll make sure to hold you to that.”

In the empty armory, Kate takes a minute to appraise her, making a grand show of her inspection as she slowly stalks around her, reaching over to finger a piece of the armor. Diana is content watching her, a little bemused at her exaggerated interest.

“I assume it meets with your approval,” she says when the walk around is complete.

“It's very becoming.”

Kate folds a forearm around her midsection and tucks it beneath an elbow. She rests her chin against the knuckles of a raised hand and smiles behind it. She lifts one end of the cape and folds it back over Diana's shoulder, revealing more of the armored garb. 

“How are you so beautiful?” Kate asks her with a voice filled with quiet wonder. She brushes a few strands of hair from her cheek, taking her time admiring.

It's not that Diana has never heard those words before or that she wasn't aware of the fact. It's the way Kate looks at her, the way she says it, and the amount of love she feels in them. That's what brings the rush of red to her face and a cocky grin to Kate's lips. 

“Aha. So you can blush.” 

“I think you might be enjoying this too much,” Diana tells her and it makes Kate laugh as she lifts her hands again and unclips the cape. 

“You realize once you've changed, you can't turn me down for a dance, right?” she asks, draping the cape on a lacquered rack designed to hold the armor. 

“I think you're doing well with Derinoe and Raedne,” Diana says, undoing straps and bindings she can reach and then stands still so Kate can come behind her and undo the rest. “If you don't start behaving around her, Derinoe's poor heart may give out.” 

Kate smirks over her shoulder at her as she undoes the last latch, the armor coming loose in her hands. She says, “You really never get jealous?”

Diana steps out of the armor and while Kate sets it on the stand, she turns to find her dress and says, “I can, but rarely about people. I covet time usually and sometimes the pets of friends.” 

“If that's the case,” Kate says, watching her dress with eyes like a fox, “maybe I will just let you watch while I stop a girl's heart.”

Diana is shaking her head lightly, but she can't hide the amusement in her voice. “You will never stop trying, will you?”

“I will never stop trying to make you want me, no.” 

“Do you think I could ever stop?” Diana asks her, fastening the metal adornments and soft trimmings of the dress.

Kate steps close enough to make Diana pause and slides her arms around her. It's a tight reaffirming hug Diana reciprocates, but it lasts so long it makes her worry. She reaches up and cradles the back of Kate's head, sliding her fingers in her hair.

“Are you all right?” 

“Yeah. I just wanted to hold you just now. That's all.”

Her voice is gentle, absent her usual cockiness, and free of any self-depreciation. It makes Diana hold her closer, bowing her head to enjoy it. Then, Kate pulls away quickly and turns back toward the door to the hallway, pulling her along.

-

When they return to the hall, Diana catches sight of her mother trying to get their attention. Her smile is infectious and overwhelming. Hippolyta touches Philippus' arm and they exchange a few words before she makes her way to them. 

“Diana, did you think I would let you and Philippus get away with this scheme?” she asks, moving in to give her a hug. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I was still uncertain until the last moment,” Diana tells her. “It didn't feel fair to Kate to spring it on her without warning.”

“And yet you still kind of did,” Kate says with a small chuckle.

“I recall someone saying she would want me courting her.” 

Kate looks a mix of surprise and impressed. She slaps her shoulder, saying, “You are not as sly as you think you are, princess.”

Hippolyta turns to her in sheer adoration and it takes her off guard.

“Katherine Kane who is loved by the dawn,” she says, reaching up to hold her face in her hands, marveling. “What magic have you spun on my daughter? How have you filled her with even more love?”

Kate looks almost trapped, held in place by Hippolyta's hands, and says, “I didn't. It was the other way around.”

Hippolyta shakes her head and leans forward, commanding Kate's attention. The warmth of her hands is comforting, convincing. For someone crafted, Diana has so much of her mother in her, especially in the amount of affection a single gaze can contain.

“Kate,” Hippolyta says with a smile. “You brought a proud amazon princess to her knees and filled a Wonder Woman with wonder. Don't discredit that.”

At this, both Kate and Diana blush. 

-

Across the courtyard, Philippus sees the blush that flashes on both their faces and finds herself amused. She's seen Diana love someone before, of course. One can't be young with gifts from Aphrodite and not, but until now she doesn't think she has ever seen Diana in love, the kind that changes someone, the kind that can become both their greatest strength and weakness. 

Diana was never very good at romance, even before she left Themyscira. It's because it has taken her a long time to learn how love and love are different because she loves and would sacrifice herself for everyone she meets. A loved one and a stranger on the street are of equal value to the world and she was always capable of making the objective decisions needed concerning both. It has always been too easy for her to be selfless, but selflessness that comes too easy does not bring with it personal growth.

Philippus sees how Kate is different. She sees how Kate's presence effects Diana's objectivity, rebalancing it so she is flustered enough to experience the exquisite anxiety of falling for someone. How else could Diana know so surely what she wants well enough to spend months visiting the crystal caves looking for the perfect quartz, but still take every second until the last debating reciting at all?

Philippus watches as Kate points at Diana's red cheeks and laughs, how Diana looks away with a small huff and says some witty remark Kate finds entertaining. Slowly, bit by bit, this Katherine Kane is teaching Diana how being in love is not the same as loving, an endeavor no one else has succeeded in doing. 

Hippolyta has left them to squabble between themselves and Philippus intercepts her, placing a hand on the small of her back, and kisses her temple.

“She looks happy,” she says when Hippolyta eases against her shoulder. 

“She is happy. You see it too, don't you?”

Philippus nods as they make their way through the celebration. “Diana is learning from her.”

“And you were worried she would never find her equal.” 

At this, Philippus gives Hippolyta's waist a small pinch that makes her jump and says, “With good reason. She is gifted with wisdom from Athena, the goddess who had no consort. That kind of wisdom can stifle a heart.” 

“You undervalue Aphrodite's gift,” Hippolyta says, nodding a hello to a few amazons as they pass. “Those two things do not have to be at odds.” 

Philippus holds the door back to the palace open as Hippolyta passes through and then rejoins her. Away from the eyes of her people, she steps into her space and the two of them walk arm in arm down the quiet halls. 

“I never said they were,” she says with a frown. “Only that I was concerned she would value one over the other too much. You must admit, Lyta, for so long, she was more enamored with what stimulated her intellectually and only physically as a warrior.”

Hippolyta pauses and looks up at her, cupping her cheek softly, saying, “I can think of someone else I know like that. In that way, Diana was always more your daughter than mine.” 

Philippus nearly gapes at her. “Lyta-.”

“And yet, you learned to balance them.” Hippolyta laughs, gives her a quick kiss, and pulls her along. “This is why I have never worried for Diana.”

“Yes, but I had you to teach me.” 

“And Diana has Kate.” 

“Well, she does now, anyway.”

“Oh, don't be so grumpy. She has someone now and that is what matters. Be happy there is love.” As they near the East wing, the sovereign of the amazons casts a look her way. “Or do you need a refresher on that tonight?” 

With a regretful smile, Philippus lifts Hippolyta's hand and kisses it before she says, “I must first attend to the door, my queen. It will be Derinoe's first time in service since Clete passed.” 

“And so you shall,” Hippolyta tells her, “then you will return to me and our bed, beloved.” 

“As my beloved commands.” 

-

Kate steals her away in the dead of night, far away from the last lingering festivities. She leads her by the hand through the empty courtyard and the amphitheater and through the large doors that take them outside. Diana is in good spirits and trails behind her, letting her lead even though she knows these streets and this air better than her. They make it to the cover of the trees before Kate stops and looks back behind them. 

“What are we doing here?” 

Kate shushes her quietly and steps into her space and wraps an arm around over her shoulder. She kisses her, pressing tight against her, and says, “Take us up.”

Diana blinks. 

“Kate-.” 

Kate kisses her again, deeper this time, more insistent, lightly coaxing a thigh between hers. She nips along Diana's jaw making a slow line to her neck where she places her lips.

“Please, Diana,” she says between hot kisses. “Take us up.”

It's almost automatic, the way Diana's arms tighten around her at the plea, pulling her so close so fast, it makes Kate's breath hitch. The kiss between them now is demanding as gravity lessens beneath them. She can feel the night air cool against her skin and Diana's warmth. When they rise above the canopy of the trees, Kate clings to her with one arm, letting the fingers of her free hand trail down the line of her neck to the dip in her clavicle and then further. 

She likes the way Diana has to force herself to even breaths in response to the trek her fingers make, likes how the light of the moon makes her skin almost glow, how she looks at her now with want and love. The image of Diana on her knee with her head bowed still causes her heart to ache and the only thing Kate can think to alleviate it is to pull her closer and pass the ache back to her. 

She kisses her again with all the words she wants to say, but can't make leave her tongue. Diana catches her thigh and grips it. Kate slips her hand where it wants to be, feels her heat and arousal, and her name comes again on a breathy voice. 

“I don't want to risk dropping you.” 

“You won't,” Kate says with warm breath against her neck. “Trust me. I know how to hold on.”

It only takes one more kiss against her pulse before Kate can feel the small tilt, just enough to give her purchase against Diana's hip and an arm holds her fast and secure. The small show of compliance is enough to make Kate dizzy with want. This woman, she thinks, pulling her into a searing kiss and drawing up the hem of her dress. This woman I adore. I want to show you what you showed me that night so high above the smog of Gotham, in the clouds beneath the starlight. I want to show you that beauty. Kate moves her hand to a better position.

She is spurred on by Diana's ragged breathing, by the way she grips her tight beneath her fingers, pressing her face against Kate's shoulder. Kate has no quartz stone to give her, but she has love, so much of it, potent and overflowing. She sends all that love to her with deft fingers until she is full, until she can receive no more, until she shakes in Kate's arms. Then she loses herself and they fall. 

The sudden pull of gravity makes them both gasp, but Kate guides Diana's lips to hers once more to bring her back. Diana catches them as she draws Kate in her arms, pulling her closer, and they stay like this for a moment, floating, and holding on. 

Kate says quietly, “Didn't I say you wouldn't?” 

Diana can't answer. She doesn't have the words so she laughs instead and Kate laughs with her. 

-

Philippus nods toward the two sentries and steps past the gates that serve as the last defense and makes her way down the carved stone steps to Doom's Doorway, the gateway to Hades. It is the time for the changing of the guards and Philippus likes to be present whenever a new sentry joins the service. 

There are always four present at any time, two at the door and two at the gate. The doorway is the only way in and out of Hades and it rests dangerously close to tartarus where the souls of the condemned are seeking escape. It is the sacred duty of the amazons to safeguard this door, the penance and the cost they pay for paradise. 

Derinoe is suited and standing on the right of the doorway, a shield in her left and a spear in her right. Her partner standing to the left is Anaea, newly courted. Philippus isn't surprised to see her. Door duty shifts are months long stretches, often a year at a time. Anaea would not be the first to venture into one with fresh hope to carry her through. Philippus had done so herself eons ago. 

When they see her, the two of them salute and Philippus returns them at ease.

“Congratulations, Anaea,” Philippus says. “I know many who go to sleep tonight in tears of jealousy over your Orithia.” 

Anaea is a serious woman with serious airs but even Philippus can detect the small bristle of butterflies beneath her expression. 

“Thank you, general,” Anaea says. “I could not ask for a better heart.”

“Then make sure you deserve that heart.” Philippus pats her on the shoulder and then looks at Derinoe. “And welcome back, Derinoe. We all miss Clete, but you do perhaps as much as Euryleia. If you need more time-.” 

“Thank you, general, but I'm fine.” Derinoe's expression does not change. “Clete sacrificed herself protecting me. She died a true amazon. It was a disservice to her memory that I did not complete my last shift.” 

Philippus nods. Last year, the doorway cracked open. It happens every so often when the earth's crust shifts and moves. Usually, they can close and seal it before anyone notices, but they were not so lucky that time. A gegenees attempted escape. Derinoe was closing the door when Clete saw him barreling toward the door and she rushed passed the threshold to hold him off. He was huge, his six arms pounded after her as she dodge. Clete shouted at Derinoe to close the door. Clete was her superior. Of course, she obeyed, but in doing so trapped Clete inside as well. Philippus doesn't believe Derinoe will ever forgive herself or truly recover from it. 

“I understand that, Derinoe,” Philippus tells her, “but if you do, send word. I will find you relief. Is that understood?” 

Derinoe gives a grim nod of her head.

“Understood, general.” 

“Good,” Philippus says, turning back to the gates. “I will leave you to your duty then.” 

 

Continued...


	4. The Price of Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Along with the other pledged pairs, Diana and Kate face the gods to receive their trials for paradise, but sometimes, the cost is just too high.

The rite of pair bonding is a promise to the amazons from their patrons, the gods who granted them peace at the price of penance on an island far removed from the rest of the world. It is a special request of the gods to consider binding two souls together who wish to spend eternity together in the Elysian Fields, for the fields are to be earned and no place within is secured unless granted by a god. Those who make it on merit alone, drink from the Lethe River and forget their sorrows, for sorrow is not allowed in the fields, including the sorrow of being separated from one's chosen joy, the cherished other half of you who guards your heart. The pair bonding is a guard against such separation. If one earns the Fields, their heart is guaranteed to follow.

This request is afforded the amazons no frequently than once a year, for the time of a god is precious even when it is nothing they are doing. The gods humor the request because the bond is a blessing of a god and must be earned respectfully. The amazons call it the trials of their patrons. 

This is the first time, Pallas Athena, Parthenos, has seen an outsider brought during such a request, and of course, it is Diana, her favored, who does so. Up in the cliffs of the mountains, there is a temple with doric columns and carved reliefs where the amazons trek to see them. 

“Four pairs and one,” Demeter says to her sisters as they observe. “It is the one I'm sure Athena would be most interested in.” 

Artemis stands in the shadows with her arms crossed lightly. “I was sure we would wait much longer to see her make this request of us. The Parthenos in her has always overshadowed the Pandemos.” 

Aphrodite Pandemos, Urania, makes a face at this and perches on the edge of a pool with a small scoff. 

“You mean the Urania in her overshadows the Pandemos, Artemis,” she says. “Diana has always been equal parts Athena and myself. We are not as exclusive as you like to think. Ask her why she took the name Pallas sometime.” 

With a simple wave of her hand, Athena silences the talk of her sisters before Artemis can respond and eases back in her chair. They watch her a moment, knowing she is thinking, and knowing she will not share these thoughts until the right time.

In the corner, their quiet sister, Hestia, finally speaks. “What are you thinking, Athena? Are you not pleased for our Diana?” 

“It's not that I am not pleased, Hestia. Of course I am. If anyone is worthy, it is she,” Athena says, noting that the amazons are about to enter the temple and call upon them. “Let Aphrodite and myself handle these today.” 

“You? The blessed virgin who is too busy for such affairs of the heart?” Aphrodite asks, smirking at the prospect. “What trouble we could cause together, Athena.” 

Athena casts a glance her way. “The trouble we cause together, Aphrodite, is often war. Let us try to contain ourselves today.” 

-

The temple is quiet, clean. There are only ten of them who made the trek. Anaea and Orithia are absent and Kate had asked after them. They will make the trek next year, she was told. It was an agreement they made before deciding to recite. Kate had wondered why, but didn't ask. She watches as one by one, each pair is taken back. Some are in there longer than others. Some emerge more satisfied than others. They all, however, have troubled written on their faces. Each pair descend from the temple by themselves. 

With each pair who disappear and emerge, a significant weight seems to settle more and more on Diana's shoulders. She is quiet, contemplating, as if having a meeting with herself. Kate leans into her shoulder, angling her head to try to catch her eye. She tries to offer a comforting smile. 

“You've got that face of yours,” she tells her. “The one that says you're thinking about something you think I may not take well.”

With a lowered head, Diana lets out a small, yielding smile before she looks at her and Kate can see whatever debate she was having with herself has been resolved and all that is left is to tell her. She's not sure if she likes the way Diana looks right now.

“They will look into you, Kate,” Diana says, “and the trials they assign will be specific to us as people and as a pair. They will be designed to test us. We are asking for paradise and it won't come easy.” 

“I know.” Kate nods. “You've told me.” 

The way Diana looks at her is solemn, almost wary and concerned, as if she's not sure her point is coming across. She leans back against the stone wall behind them with her arms loosely folded and momentarily averts her eyes. 

“I want you to know that once I ask for it, I will not step down from that request for any reason,” she says. “I will accept it with full intention of completion, whatever it is they ask of me.” 

Kate is humored that in her attempt to encourage her, Diana has looked as though she were the one who needed it instead. She takes her hand and smiles. 

“We'll be all right,” she tells her. “We'll be fine. Promise.” 

Now Diana offers her a small smile and takes her hand, kissing it softly. 

“My brave heart. You always stun me with your courage.” 

However, the somber air around her thickens instead of lightens and she steps beside Diana and places an arm around her, hoping the comfort of touch can reach her through whatever thoughts she is having. 

The wait is not as long as she thought it would be. Then one by one the pairs they traveled with come out of the room. Some look determined. Some look relieved. They all look concerned. The last pair stops by them and tells them that the gods have called for them. Diana draws herself up, looks at Kate, and then offers her hand. Kate takes it and they make their way to the door and enter. 

It isn't difficult to tell which deity is who. The two gods are as different as night and day, one dressed only in a sheer see-through shawl and the other a corporate career woman. They both watch them with assessing eyes as they approach in the otherwise empty room. Kate knows she is being judged as she walks in. Usually, it wouldn't be something that concerns her too much. She has little care for gods or deities. Her life is complicated enough with just people and meta humans. But these two, she knows, are important to Diana, which in turn means they must be important to her to some extent. 

Kate notices how Athena's gaze softens just so when she looks upon Diana and says, “Your presence here has caused much furor amongst the gods, daughter.”

“Only some gods, but not the ones who matter,” Aphrodite chimes in with a wink to Diana. “It thrills me to see you make this climb, daughter who knows me better than most.” 

Diana keeps her head cast down and says, “You flatter me, my lady. If I know you at all, it's because you have allowed me to.” 

“Well, I look forward to you knowing me even more during this.”Aphrodite comes close to Diana, places a curved finger below her chin and lifts it. She smiles. Her attention now turns to Kate and she circles around her inspecting. “So, you are the woman who has stolen our Diana's heart.” 

Kate interrupts the circle halfway and sticks out an insistent hand that Aphrodite dodges and then considers carefully. 

“Kate Kane,” she says. “I didn't necessarily steal her heart so much as constantly lay siege to it until she relented.” 

Aphrodite's smile widens and she casts a knowing glance toward Athena who stands a ways back observing. “I like you, Kate Kane.”

“Kate.” Diana says her name in a way Kate has never heard before, not disapproving or critical, but a soft chastise instead. “We stand before deities inside the house we've built for them. Tread lightly and with great reverence.” 

At her mild patient look, Kate retrieves her hand, wanting to respect what is important to Diana. She begins to apologize, but Aphrodite reaches over and takes the retrieving hand, lightly studying it at different angles as she gives it an awkward shake. 

“Diana is like Pallas in her sense of propriety. I am not as much,” Aphrodite tells Kate with a smile, still slowly shaking her hand. “Aphrodite, Kate Kane. You can also call me Pandemos, Urania, Love, My Lady Love, or any combination of those. This is what I am to do with your hand, right?” 

Kate relaxes. Aphrodite, huh? She's not half bad for a god. 

“Almost,” she says and gives the god a proper handshake. “Three quick shakes and then we part.”

Aphrodite considers the handshake and says, “Charming.” 

She clasps her hands behind her back and spins on her bare heel, leading them further in the room to Athena who still has not said anything. Diana bows and Kate follows suit, but Athena waves for them approach with a hand. She sizes them up and down for a few terse moments. As welcoming and warm as Aphrodite is, Athena is just as observant and controlled. 

“I believe, Kate Kane, that your effect on Diana is evident,” she says. “Or did you think I would not know of your liaison in the clouds?”

Aphrodite grins. Kate feels a flush of heat to her cheeks and looks to Diana who shows no sign of embarrassment. Of course, this is her god of wisdom before them. Why would Diana think she wouldn't know? Nothing in her life was really private is it? Kate has to shrug.

“To be honest, you weren't exactly in the forefront of my thoughts when that happened,” she says. 

Aphrodite lets out a lively laugh and Athena takes in a breath of thin tolerance. She turns her attention to Diana. Her expression remains unchanged, but her voice acquires a touch of fondness beneath its authority.

“This is what you bring me to deem worthy of you, daughter?” she asks. “You think just anyone would be approved for my most favored? That I would acquiesce simply because you ask?”

Diana gazes upon Athena with a solemn expression and says, “I do not dare, great Pallas. I bring who I wish to be worthy of and ask you deem me fit for her.” 

It's not an answer that pleases Athena. Kate can tell by the way Athena's eyes narrow and how she tilts her head. She has seen many a superior officer look at a subordinate like this, waiting only for the right fuck up to unleash all they're thinking, but Diana stands still with no apology and waits. 

Kate is about to interject when Aphrodite appears beside her. Her heavenly perfume is paranormal and mystical, not something of this world. 

“Best not interfere, Kate Kane,” Aphrodite warns, “they've a complicated relationship, those two.” 

So Kate bites her tongue and stops to watch. She can't place into words yet how the air is between them, but her own emotions oscillate between offense on Diana's behalf and blatant curiosity. What kind of relationship was this between them? She has never seen Diana balance humility and audacity so carefully before. Now, Athena's expression softens in almost parental indulgence.

“Very well, Diana. Because it is you, I will judge from that perspective. Hold your tongue and let your Kate speak,” she says and Diana thanks her. She turns to Kate and beckons her with an open hand. “Come here, Kate Kane. Diana seeks her worth by your side. Let me see and know that side.” 

The air in the empty room is cold and goosebumps rise on Kate's arm. She's not sure how she feels about that entire exchange just now, only that she knows Diana is wrong, they are all wrong, about worth and people and love. Kate knows they all are here to judge her worth, not Diana's. When Kate is unsure, she hardens and observes, figures out where the opponent is heading and decides the best tactic to deal. She draws out the soldier as she does now walking closer to them both. That is when Athena does something Kate does not expect. She steps aside and lets Aphrodite face her instead.

“Aphrodite, what say you?” Athena asks and then is silent, observing. 

“Kate Kane,” Aphrodite muses melodically, still amused from earlier, still alight that Diana is even here. She admires Kate for another minute before she floats down and her words don't match the lightness of her voice. “Do you know what it means to love Diana? The difficulty it involves?”

Kate is surprised, aware of Athena's eyes, but keeping hers on Aphrodite. She says, “I don't understand the question. It's not difficult to love Diana.” 

“Surely you know that's not true.” 

“I hate that you think that.” Kate shakes her head in disagreement, then rethinks, stops, and lifts a hand. “Can I speak freely?”

“You may, Kate Kane of Gotham. All offense will be forgiven today,” Athena says, but holds her in an intimidating gaze. “Tell us why you disagree with our assessment.”

“Because your assessment is wrong,” Kate says. “It's easy to love Diana. She's the best of us, the best of you. You made sure of that, didn't you? That's why we love her, even you o' icy virgin one.” 

Aphrodite stifles a soft laugh, but Athena is unfazed, so Kate continues. 

“You ask me this like the answer, whatever it is, will make me change my mind, like loving her can be switched off so easily and I'm sure even gods know that's not true.” 

“This is fair, but the question still stands,” Aphrodite says when Athena is quiet, “Diana is not like you or us. She was created with a purpose, seeded with ambition, and blessed by us with the tools to accomplish it. Her purpose must always take precedence, over you, over your bond, over herself. You may not always have her. That is what it means to love Diana.” 

Kate stares at them, looking from one to the other. Athena said all offense would be forgiven, so she's taking the opportunity to size them up. Gods or not, she has questions and she will ask some of them. 

“Are you going to take her away?” she asks. Diana squeeze her hand, but Kate continues. “It sounds a lot like you're threatening to.” 

“She questions and challenges us, Diana,” Athena says with frigid words that sound like warning.

Diana exchanges silent looks with her patron and Kate watches them, noticing how Diana respectfully but fearlessly objects and the way Athena, despite her power and position, actually listens, the ice in her thawing in the face of her favored. Aphrodite was right. Theirs was a complicated relationship. 

“You did tell her to speak freely,” Aphrodite reminds Athena who acknowledges the reprimand with a nod. 

Aphrodite takes a seat on the arm rest of the stone throne behind her, turning back to Kate and says, “Suppose we do take her. Suppose she chooses to leave because we have use of her elsewhere you can't follow. What of your love then, Kate Kane?” 

“I'll get her back.” 

“You sound awfully confident on that.”

“You sound awfully confident I won't.” 

Once again, Diana squeezes her hand in a silent plea, adding a grip on her forearm to calm her and Kate bites her tongue. Now Aphrodite's eye gleams and her lips curve upwards wickedly. 

“Mortals are not humble creatures. They think and say things they cannot, nor have ever, delivered,” she says. 

It's the way Aphrodite says this, the knowing look in her eye even as she offers Kate the smile that feels deceptively kind. Kate takes the time to think about this. Aphrodite is a goddess long lived and has seen eons of ego-driven men come and go. Maybe pride and determination are not what she needs here. She takes in a breath and then sits down on the cold flooring with raised knees and rests her outstretched arms on them. It's probably disrespectful to sit in their presence, especially like this, but she doesn't look at Athena to confirm. What's offending a god on her long list of mistakes? ...Accomplishments?

“None of that's up to me,” she says, not trying to hide how bitter her words are. “If you take her, you take her, if she leaves, she leaves, but the love you ask me about goes nowhere. It stays with me. I don't care if you are gods, you don't have more say in that matter than I do.” 

Aphrodite muses on this a minute before she says, “Sounds painful.” 

“Yeah, it would be.” 

“You don't have to risk feeling that pain, you know. ” 

Kate gives a half laugh and runs her hand through her hair. She lifts her head only high enough to look at Aphrodite. “Yeah, but wouldn't you?”

Now, Aphrodite looks at her with a mixture of interest and sympathy that only heightens her pity. She spends a few more minutes considering her, pursing her lips in thought and then floats back upwards. 

“I see. I see how you love now.” She lays a heavy hand on Athena's shoulder. “I believe this is now your sphere of influence, sister.” 

Coming right on the heels of Aphrodite's pity, Athena's judging silence is sharper and more defined. It finds its way beneath Kate's carefully crafted armor and places its blade against her beating heart, listening to its contractions. It's not at all the gentle accepting way Diana sees into someone. Athena's insight is decisive and focused. 

“Do you think yourself worthy of her, Kate Kane?” she asks.

Kate hasn't interacted with Athena enough to know how to answer this question tactfully. It feels like a trap, as if no matter how she approaches the answer, it will be a surefire way to lose. Does anyone really win against the god of wisdom? Has anyone? 

“I do,” Kate says, carefully, “because I know she thinks I am and I trust her opinion over mine and yours.”

The way Athena looks at her now is the first time Kate doesn't feel like she's being judged. It feels more like being considered as a real contender for the first time. Kate is surprised just how empowering it feels to have the god of wisdom afford her that level of respect. Athena turns to Diana now and her voice softens almost undetectably.

“Diana of Themyscira, favored and loved by all in this room, I ask you what you ask of me,” Athena says. “Do you think yourself worthy of your Kate Kane?” 

“My lady Pallas, it is as Kate says.” Diana nods. “She thinks me so, therefore I believe I am.” 

“Very well,” Athena says and then lifts above them beside Aphrodite. “Arise, Diana, Kate. I know your cost. I have your trials ready.”

Everything is quiet when Kate pushes herself from the ground and stands beside Diana. She is the only bit of warmth in this unfeeling room and she relishes it. 

“You came here seeking the bond of souls and we have deemed you fit to receive it,” Athena tells them, her voice rising in the air around them, making it almost vibrate with life. “However, the price of paradise is vast and unforgiving. For you, Diana, you must pay the cost of your gifts received from us. You must return the bit of us you carry with you.” 

“What? Wait.” Kate starts surprised, shocked even, but Diana only nods in acceptance. 

“I accept the price.” 

“No,” Kate says, looking at Diana who only bows her head and squeezes her hand tighter than ever before. “That's not-. Diana, you can't.” 

Athena does not address Kate's protests when she turns to her and says, “And for you, Kate Kane, you must bear the knowledge that she does so for you.” 

“No, you can't.” Kate is shaking her head and her fist is quivering. She rips free of Diana's grasp and steps forward, shouting. “You can't do that!” 

Athena lifts her head and spies Kate with eyes the color of a storm. “And yet I have.” 

Kate glares at her and curses, turning back to Diana, pleading. “You can't do this, Diana. Not for me. You're Wonder Woman. The world needs Wonder Woman.” 

Diana looks at her with such sorrow it breaks her heart. She offers her a smile and touches her cheek, saying, “And I need you, Kate.”

Now, Kate understands. She gets it now. The price to bond, the cost. Athena is making Diana choose between Kate and her purpose. She's asking Diana to give up everything that makes her who she is and she is going to make Kate bear witness. She backs away from Diana, shaking her head.

“No, you don't, You really don't,” she says and turns back to Athena, hoping she recognizes all the hate she feels toward her. “Okay, it's over. You win. I withdraw. I don't want the bond anymore.” 

She has never seen such a look of hurt on Diana's face before and she hates that she's the one who put it there. She hates the way Athena watches her with an expression devoid of feeling. She hates that the one thing that has ever made her feel good and whole and functional is something that still causes so much collateral damage for someone else. Of course, Kate, she thinks, how could you ever think you could hold on to this? How could you ever think happiness for you didn't come at the cost of someone else's?

“My Lady Wisdom,” Diana starts, but Athena lifts a hand to silence her. 

Aphrodite shakes her head. “She has spoken, Diana. The price is set and Kate refuses to pay it.”

“Forget about me. I'll pay any price you ask. This isn't about me.” Kate is shouting. “I refuse to let her pay for it. I refuse her price.” 

“And we acknowledge this,” Athena says, “but her price is not yours to refuse.”

“Kate.” Diana turns to her, the expression on her face pained, but hopeful. “I told you I intend to see this through.”

“I can't let you, Diana,” Kate tells her, her own heart breaking open on her words. She turns to Athena and says through teeth and tears. “I know what you want. The only way to stop this ...the only way to stop her… That's what you want, isn't it? You want me to walk away from her. The only way all of this ends is if the relationship ends. Isn't that right?”

She is demanding an answer from a deity much older than she can fathom, who will probably give her an answer she won't like. Athena only spies her from where she stands, impossibly tall, impossibly powerful, so far above her and her petty human emotions. 

“That I leave to you. Do what you think is best for Diana.” 

Kate curses. Athena has seen right through her, knows what it is she thinks and feels, and has challenged her to face it. It is a truth she can no longer hide from. Her eyes lift to Diana and she can see her fear, because Diana also knows what Kate thinks and feels. Perhaps it is the only thing Kate and Athena will ever agree upon; that Diana deserves better. Kate knows Diana deserves better than herself and this cruel god before her.

“Kate,” Diana starts, stepping toward her. 

“She's right, Diana,” Kate says, looking away. Her voice trembles with her shoulders. “You and me, I told you we didn't make sense. We just don't work. We weren't ever going to work.” 

“That's not true, Kate,” Diana says, but her voice catches in her throat when Kate speaks again.

“Diana, I love you,” she says, “but it's over. We're over.” 

She turns from them and starts for the door, ignoring how Diana calls after her, how her heart breaks open and clatters to the floor in pieces where Kate has left hers bleeding. 

“I accept the price, great Pallas,” Diana says behind her, her voice ascending on the cold air, so confident and sure it makes Kate spin around to see her facing Athena as she rises above her. “I return these gifts to you and yours.” 

No. No, she can't do that. She withdrew. She ended things. It's already done. There is no price to pay because there is no bond to request, there is no relationship to bond. She shouts Diana's name. Athena's gray eyes glow. Beside her, Aphrodite lifts off the ground and the two of them are swaddled in bright light that reaches down and embraces Diana. Kate is running. She grabs Diana and pulls her from the light, but she's too late. In an instant, the light and the gods are gone, and Diana collapses against her. 

“You idiot!” Kate is shouting. “Why would you do that! Why would you dare do that?!” 

Diana rests her forehead against Kate's shoulder. “I don't want us to be over. I've made you my heart, Kate. How can I live without my heart?”

Kate is crying. Her knees are shaking and she can't hold them up anymore. They sink to the floor and she clutches Diana to her. She hates this. She hates all of this. She hates Diana did this and she hates that she did this for her. 

-

Aphrodite watches Kate cling to Diana. Her sister gods stand around her watching as well. Their Diana, the promised babe to whom they sent blessings on blown kisses, the daughter on whose shoulders they placed all their good intentions, the very best of themselves. They see her now bereft and plundered, hollowed, knowing the tears of her Kate will never be enough to fill her. 

“What have you done, Athena?” Artemis asks, her eyes are bright with disapproval she tries to contain. “You will ruin her.” 

“She will persevere,” Athena says. Her owl hoots above and then lands on her shoulder when she takes a seat. “She will have to.”

“Those words are cruel with no feeling, sister,” Demeter tells her. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“You have always put Diana through much turmoil, but this? This may be what breaks her.” Hestia holds Athena in a harsh stare. “She will not stop her fight. She can be killed like this.” 

“Wisdom is in my purview, Hestia, not yours,” Athena says coldly, growing tired of the judgement of her sister. “Have a little more faith in her than that. And, Demeter, I always know what I am doing.”

Aphrodite is the only one who is quiet, the only one who does not seem as panicked as they. She looks back at the image of Kate and Diana fondly. 

“It was Diana's choice and she chose love,” Aphrodite says and makes their visage bigger. “Do you not see? Don't you see how bright she shines? How bright they both shine right now?” 

The others are quiet but Athena stares at the image. Part of Aphrodite wonders if Athena can see a little of her young self in Diana, but she supposes that might be too much to expect of Parthenon, who sees all better than anyone else. 

“I do see it,” Athena says. “And I see your pride in her. They will need guidance. I trust you to provide that guidance in my stead.” 

“You are cruel, sister, even to yourself.” Aphrodite shakes her head with mild disapproval. “Of course I will.” 

“I am just, Aphrodite,” Athena says, pinching the bridge of her nose as if a headache has come on. “That is all I am.”

 

Continued…


	5. A Casualty of Choice

When Hippolyta sees her daughter, she knows something is wrong. Kate half carries her and they both look as if they have seen the end of all things. Diana looks weary in every sense of the word, like her soul has been strained, her body beaten, and her heart shattered. Kate looks as if she was the one who did all of those things. Hippolyta comes to Diana's other side.

“What happened?” 

“Athena's price was too high,” Kate says with bitter words, “but Diana paid it anyway.”

Hippolyta stops and looks from Kate to Diana and she refuses to believe what she already knows. She holds Diana's face in her hands, searching for something she doesn't find. 

“Diana, you didn't...”

“She was leaving,” Diana says and closes her eyes. “I couldn't bear it.”

“Goddamit, Diana.” Kate presses her face to her shoulder. “It wasn't worth it. Nothing is worth this.” 

“You are.” 

This is a wound shared between the two of them, Hippolyta knows, one that will not heal unless both sides agree to close it together. Her daughter has given up what made her special and she has done it for the woman at her side who thinks she shouldn't have. She doesn't know who is right or who is to blame and the lack of knowledge leaves her numb. All she can do is help Kate get her inside where she can rest before starting the long road to recovery. Philippus is waiting for her when she emerges from the room, letting the door close quietly behind her. 

"She will be fine eventually," she tells her. "She almost slipped into shock." 

"Those gifts were grafted to her soul so long ago they are no longer separate things," Philippus says, frowning. "It must have been painful tearing them all out at once. I am surprised she didn't.”

Hippolyta is quiet for a moment.

"Perhaps she would have were they returned for another purpose," she says, "but her Kate is a tether that keeps her grounded, even if Kate may not know it."

-

Diana does not remember much after Kate helped her make the trek down. She remembers her mother and she remembers Philippus running toward her with a handful of concerned amazons. She remembers Kate's voice and her touch and her lavender scent. There is an emptiness inside her, a hollow that vibrates with every echo, pulsing with her heartbeat like a deep wound left open to heal improperly. She can feel it, like something has been pulled out of her, roots and all, and has left nothing but a hole in its wake. That's what she remembers the most. The pain of being gutted.

Then she remembers a bed, her bed, and an embrace, the rise and fall of a chest and arms that hold her, hands that smooth her hair. Somehow, she knows she's safe here. She is slipping away into a field of lavender, drawn to seductive sleep, but she cannot yet. Not yet. There was a reason, there was a person, the hollow inside her ...there is a purpose for it, one that scared her more than this vacant feeling ever could. Kate. Yes. Her Kate who wakes the sun for morning, who never gives up, who has shattered both their hearts to preserve them... Where is Kate?

“Sh, Diana. I'm here. I'm right here. Just rest. Just sleep.” 

She can't. Not sleep. What if she wakes and Kate has gone? 

“I'm not. I won't. You're my heart just as much as I'm yours, right? How could I leave my heart?” 

My heart. That's right. My heart. It's all Diana can think before she drifts off. 

-

Fury has Atea in its grasp and dictates her moves, confiscates her purpose. She does not move because she wants to. She moves because it tells her to, because there is no other language to give it life. Atea is angry. They are all angry, but none of theirs rival the wrath of the Dawn. Raedne sees how it blinds her, clouds her senses. She blocks Raedne's attack from the right without considering the angle of attack and the collision loosens her grip. 

“That is a broad sword,” Raedne says. “Use it like one.”

But she is not listening. She brings the sword up around fast and Raedne easily dodges, allowing it to come past her torso, and knocks it away hard. She is over straining herself, ignoring the limits of her own body. Fury is a fuel that destroys everything it motivates. Raedne needs her to focus. 

“That is a stab,” she says, sidestepping another strike and letting her own momentum push her passed. With a hand to her shoulder, she shoves her aside, shouting, “Which fingers control the point of a stab?” 

Atea lunges, blade extended, but Raedne knocks it out of her grip, and she uses the hit to redirect herself into a dodge roll, skidding across the grass and instantly locating her weapon. Her fury is sharp and she is perhaps the fastest Raedne has seen at on the spot strategy in close quarter combat, but right now she has no peripheral vision. C'mon, Atea. You are better than this. Be better than this.

“Which ones?” 

Raedne demands an answer now. They both dash for her weapon, but Atea has always been faster and more agile than her. She watches as she dives for her weapon, snatches it from the grass and turns mid-air just in time to catch Raedne's blade as it comes down, shoving her back hard against the ground.

Atea grunts beneath the weight of the swords. She may not have the strength of an amazon, but right now the strength of her rage holds Raedne at bay. Her eyes have the spark of determination that makes the shadow of malice even darker, a malice Raedne can see Kate has fought hard against once before.

She rolls sideways, avoiding the blade and then brings the hilt of hers hard against the back of Raedne's knee. It brings her down and Atea is gone in moments, standing a few feet away, her chest heaving. 

“A stab is a precision attack,” she says, through labored breathing, but her voice has lost its gravel. “It needs the guiding grip of a steady pointer finger to stay the course and follow through. It needs to know where it's supposed to go and how it's supposed to get there. It needs that. Without that finger, it's useless.” 

Just like that, Atea is gone and the only one who stands before Raedne is Kate, whose anger is vast and consuming, who wishes it would just swallow her already, like it has before. At least that would be familiar.

“If I were faster, Raedne,” she says, her trembling hands letting the sword fall to the grass below, “Maybe I could have stopped it. But I wasn't. Your princess ...I've ruined her.” 

Raedne stakes the sword into the ground and straightens up, holding Kate in a gaze that is puzzled and questioning. 

“Then fix her,” she says, with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of her head. “Our princess is still our princess. Still amazon, still trained as one, still skilled as one. She is unchanged in my eyes. Why is she so changed in yours?” 

“She's not.” Kate lifts her head and looks at her, her eyebrows thread in conflict, but she offers a smile after a moment, lets out a small breath, and nods. “You're right. She's not. You're right.” 

Kate pats her shoulder. Raedne shrugs as their figures disappear over a small grassy hill, their voices still carrying on the cliff breeze.

“Orithia has asked you see her. She has something for the princess.” 

“Okay. Where can I find her?” 

“At Anaea's shop.” 

“I'm not from here, Raedne. Where the hell is that?” 

“By Io's forge.” 

“RAEDNE.” 

-

Diana first met Athena when she was still too young to remember, a toddler who learned to walk and was too busy running everywhere, anywhere, to listen to anything adults had to say. The problem is, Diana is fast. When she ran, she was across the island in three breaths and a laugh. There was no real way amazons could super baby proof all of Themyscira, but perhaps a few gods could. 

This is the time the gods were the most actively engaged in her life. Artemis watched over her the most in those first years. Animals became alarm systems, guardians, and friends. It was easy for them to distract her from Themyscira's steep cliffs and rocky caverns with a quick game of chase. Diana's first language was deer. Then bear. Bear was necessary for wrestling. When she discovered flight, seagulls guided her back to land and thrushes taught her to sing.

Athena had not yet gifted Diana, waiting for the first glimmer of personality to show before deciding what would befit her best. It meant she watched her closely and often, more than the other gods were aware. It meant that Athena witnessed every milestone in her first years and set into motion the fact that Athena would continue to witness all of Diana's first times, all of her triumphs, and all of her failures, even now.

She met Diana on the day she learned of fear and of death, when she chanced upon a jaguar hunting. Something in the way the jaguar moved so silently across the forest floor told Diana that this was a quiet game. When the jaguar dropped lower on its hunches, so did she. When it crept so close to the deer, so did she. The deer sensed it too late. 

Diana was a baby. She thought all animals were playmates, but when the jaguar dragged the body into a thicket and up a tree, she knew her world was changed. There were things in it now like screams, teeth, and claws and feeding. Through it all, she had not made a sound and stayed hidden in the vegetation long after the jaguar disappeared. 

Athena appeared before her now, curious. It was unlike her to be quiet and still so long. When she pulled back large fanned leaves, little Diana looked up at her. She was instantly wary of her, staring up at her both scared and awed. What an interesting combination of feeling for a baby to have. In broken deer, she asked after both animals, not just the deer, and Athena knew what gift would suit her best. 

“Come, Diana. Let me see you,” she said, stepping back and Diana followed despite her caution. 

She drew a little from her own aura and fashioned it into a butterfly that eased the fear in the baby. It fluttered around her, drawing laughs. When she caught it in her hand, the gift was bestowed, becoming one with her. 

Athena had given her wisdom for even as a baby, her emotions were complex and layered. She was perceptive and when she was faced with something new and terrifying, she did not run away. She did not scream. Instead, despite her fear, she defaulted to quiet observation. A personality like this would need a wider scope of vision to understand all the things it observes and feels and she knew little Diana would see more and feel more than any other amazon. 

She walked her back to the city and let her walk through the gates herself. It was after that day Hippolyta and her amazons stopped having trouble with a baby who dashed off out of sight out of boredom.

-

Anaea's workshop is on the other side of the residential area. It's a space claimed by the artisans where raw materials are turned into objects of use. Anaea is the amazon's metalworker and her armory sits on the Southside of artisan alley, attended to by Orithia while she is away on door duty. Kate steps inside the open doorway and looks around, knocking on the weathered heavy wood of the frame. She glances about the empty place and calls out. Behind her Raedne towers over her and does the same. 

As they enter, there is a small commotion in the back and from behind draped canvas covering a doorway, Orithia emerges. She moves just as gracefully as she did the night of the recitation despite the heavy protective coveralls she wears. 

“Oh, I wasn't expecting you so soon. I would have been a little more presentable,” she says with a smile. 

“It's all right. I'd rather you didn't, actually,” Kate tells her. “All this propriety reminds me too much of home, the not good part of home.”

Orithia nods as if she knows what she means and then approaches.

“You have your quartz,” Orithia says, pleased. “Good. May I see it?”

Kate falters for a minute and then looks at the small leather pouch fastened flat on the outside of her left bicep. When Diana had give it to her, she didn't know it was made only to carry a quartz or that it would signify to others she was in courtship. She reaches up with her right hand and begins to untie the leather bands when Orithia reaches over to assist. 

“What do you need it for?” she says, holding her arm out as Orithia unwinds the bands. 

“Who else is going to put it on your guard?” Orithia asks her as the pouch comes away. 

“My guard?” 

“Yes, your guard. Diana approached us about it a little over a month ago.” She smiles, clutches the pouch in one hand, then her eyes fall further downward. Her fingers slide down to hold Kate's hand where she can inspect it at different angles. “The measurements look good. Anaea had been concerned about crafting it without doing it herself.” 

Kate pauses and says, “She talked to you a month ago?”

Orithia blinks, unsure what part of that was unclear and Raedne stifles a laugh, which earns her a curt look from Kate. 

“No, I got that much,” Kate says, shaking her head with a hand held up. “I'm just surprised is all. How long has she been thinking about this?”

“Our Diana always was one to be prepared, over prepared at times,” Orithia says. “This won't take too long. You are welcome to wait if you'd like.” 

Kate nods, but doesn't pay attention when she disappears behind the canvas flap. She takes in an even breath and forces it out slowly, sitting on the edge of the table with her head bowed. She had failed the trial, hadn't she? But Diana is still without her gifts and Kate is still guilt-ridden. 

Raedne is inspecting some of the work hanging on the walls of the shop oblivious to how Kate's mood sours. 

“Raedne, when do bonded pairs usually have their hand guards made?” Kate asks, letting her palms fall to the wood edge of the table to grip it. Raedne glances over her shoulder at her in the middle of picking at a plated shoulder guard that runs to the elbow. 

“After their trials,” she says and returns to the armor. “You know, the usual.” 

“Diana and I didn't complete the trials. We're not going to be bonded. I don't know what to do with them.”

“You wear them.” Raedne's attention now comes to an ornate spearhead, ceremonial most likely, but she checks the tip with her finger anyway and says, “And why wouldn't you? She is the princess and you are the unrelenting dawn. Why wouldn't you finish your trials?” 

Kate closes her eyes and allows herself a smile at that. Raedne, maybe her first amazon friend, not exactly the sharpest spear in the armory, but the way she looks at life gives Kate some comfort. It's hard not to believe her when there is no doubt in her voice when she says those words.

“You're right, Raedne. You're always right,” Kate says, “Why wouldn't we?” 

When Orithia returns, she carries two hand guards, one silver, the other gold laid out on plush rabbit furs. She sets them on the table and for Kate to inspect. The over all structure for form and function is the same, but they are individualized in their motifs. Silver is embellished with intricate flames originating from the wrist to each extending digit, the knuckles ending in flames that almost look like feathers. On the underside where it attaches to the wrist, the quartz now shaped and cut, is the eye of a subtle bird. Kate smiles. A phoenix. A firebird. Bette'll love that, she's sure. 

Diana's, the golden one, looks more like the branches of a tree with twisting vines and laurel leaves. How fitting for her. Out of curiosity, she checks for a stone and has to smile. Red. Like hers. It makes her remember the relief in Diana when Kate met in the amphitheater, makes her remember the air high above Themyscira and the hunter's moon light up the clouds, the hurt she saw on her face when she withdrew from her in the temple. It is a simple thing, a small quartz stone, meaningless outside of context, but in it is every conflicting emotion she feels and swallows down.

Kate nods to Orithia her approval and then watches her wrap the furs around them. With a thanks, she and Raedne are out the door and back under the midmorning sun. She hears the whispers and catches a few amazons lean closer to hide their words. _Did you hear what Diana did for her? Gave 'em up, just like that? I wouldn't have. She shouldn't have. Not for an outsider, not for anyone._

Kate doesn't acknowledge them. As they walk, Raedne is seemingly oblivious or just that good at not caring. She points to the furs in Kate's hand.

“Whose is whose?” she asks. 

“Guess. Fifty-fifty odds in your favor.” 

Raedne lets out a long breath and is quiet for a moment before she says, “The gold is for the princess.”

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” 

“What do chickens have to do with victory?” 

“Nothing, Raedne. Absolutely nothing.” Kate laughs and slaps her back. “Ever feel like leaving paradise? I could really use someone like you back home.”

-

Kate finds Diana seated outside beneath the rays of the sun, eyes closed and face tilted toward their warmth. She is always beautiful, but today she is especially, cut from the same clay of the land beneath her, forged by the same air she breathes, and nourished by the same sun she soaks in. She would almost say she looked at peace, were it not for the hollow in her soul. Diana hears her footsteps on the stone pathway and looks at her, her face softening even more than she'd ever seen it. 

“How do you feel?” Kate asks as she comes to sit on the patch of grass beside her, setting the furs aside.

“Different.” Diana considers a moment and the song of thrushes catches her attention. “I can't understand their song anymore. The sun, Kate, and the air, it doesn't feel the same.”

There is more curiosity in the way Diana says this than anything else, but Kate knows all too well the novelty of looking and feeling through life in a different way wears off quick, and all that's left is the reminder that it's not the same, that you aren't the same, that you will never be the same again. The anger in Kate gives way to heartache. She knows what Diana is about to go through and she wishes she could protect her from it, save her from it, but she knows she can't.

“We'll go back up there, Diana,” Kate says. “We'll call them back, get them to reverse this. We can make you you again.” 

Her voice trails when she sees how Diana shakes her head, taking her hand to cover it with her own. Her eyes lift up to the trail they hiked, past the trees is disappears into, to the mountainside temple where she'd left part of herself behind. 

“No, I made a decision and I must see that decision through, wherever it takes me,” she says, then drops her gaze to the rabbit furs beside them. Her eyes light up as she reaches for them. “You've been to see Orithia?” 

“She called for me, apparently,” Kate says, watching her unwrap the two hand guards and admires the craftsmanship. “I wasn't sure what to do about them.”

“That depends on you,” Diana tells her. Her fingers brush the fire feathers of the phoenix. “I can't make you wear something you don't want.” 

Kate gives her a confused expression and says, “I thought they were only for pairs after they're bonded.”

“It's customary to wait for a ceremony, but not necessary,” Diana says. “Not unlike a ring in that way.” 

“But I withdrew. They heard me say it.”

“Yes, but you are still paying your price, because I paid mine.” 

The way Diana looks at her is earnest. She is curious and hopeful at the same time, but still patient and understanding. Raedne's words come floating back. Diana is still Diana. She is changed but unchanged and Kate does not love her any less. It makes her offer a small smile, grateful but regretful that gratitude is necessary. 

“Yeah, guess I am,” she says. “Guess we both are.”

Diana draws Kate closer and rests her forehead against hers. Her hands are warm as they come up to hold Kate's face and her voice is soft and full of affection. 

“Then, Katherine Kane, loved by the dawn,” Diana says. “Stand and be seen. Speak and be heard. Perhaps you will get lucky.” 

Kate laughs. Or she cries. Those are one and the same right now. It's just the two of them in this moment, but her heart is still beating fast. She closes her eyes and breathes. 

“It's you, Diana of Themyscira, princess of many, charmer of bats,” she says and smiles when she hears Diana's soft laugh. “I want you.”

“Then you can have me, Kate.” 

Those words again. They will never not make her weep. Kate will never not love the way she says them. She reaches up to take Diana's left hand and turns toward her palm, kissing it. Then she angles it and claims her pulse. How did she do this, she wonders, manage to trick this woman into loving her? Diana gently frees her hand and reaches for the silver hand guard, carefully turning it over and finding the hidden latch beneath the quartz. She helps Kate ease her hand through, sliding each finger through the attachment and then fastens it around her wrist. 

They both stop to admire it for a minute, the way the fit is near perfect, negligible where it is not and easily fixed. It feels sleek, a second skin, and breathable, much lighter than she had thought, and a little badass looking to boot. She turns her hand over and wiggles her fingers. Diana takes her fingers and kisses the plated armor over her fingers. Then she lets Kate slide the gold guard on her hand, carefully threading her fingers and fastening is down. 

“I never knew how much I wanted to wear one of these until I met you,” Diana says, studying her hand as she turns it over a few times. “Before you, it never seemed very flattering to be claimed, to announce it like this.”

Kate pulls her close and claims her, drawing those words from her lips and the feeling they evoke. It never felt right for anyone to claim Diana before, but she does so now. This woman is mine. This love is mine. She feels Diana sink into her kiss and the only thing that can fight the anger and heartache in Kate is Diana.

“Consider yourself claimed.”

 

Continued…


	6. Despite the Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Gotham, she lives moment to moment, learning who she is now.

There are times Derinoe swears she can hear a knocking, insistent and in waves of three, coming from the other side of Doom's Doorway. There have always been odd noises every now and again, but this is the first time a sound from the other side rattles her nerves. Maybe she's going crazy. Maybe it's just the guilt playing tricks to make her feel more guilty. She swears, whoever is knocking, they are doing it for her. The next time she hears the knocking, she turns to Anaea.

“Do you hear that?” 

While Derinoe stands facing the stairs, Anaea stands facing the door, but she is ever stoic.

“Whatever you hear, give it no mind, Derinoe,” Anaea tells her. “There is nothing coming for you from the other side.”

Derinoe lowers her gaze. Since Clete's death, she has found that while most of her sisters accept the loss, some find solace in blame, including Clete's partner, Euryleia. Some people need a way to channel their grief out and away from them and Derinoe is more than willing to serve that purpose. It feels the least she could do. 

But the knocking, that horrible knocking, keeps telling her that it's not enough. She needs to do more. Atonement is not yet in the stars for her. It might be because Derinoe wears her thoughts on her shoulders that Anaea decides to speak again.

“Clete did not like sharing attention. You shame her sacrifice with guilt and steal her glory. She would have you stop.”

The words make Derinoe pause and let out a small smile. That's probably true. That sounds like something she would say. Clete used to say they worked so well together because Derinoe preferred to remain unnoticed. Anaea is right. Clete would have her stop. The best way to honor her would be to let her have her warrior's death. In the quiet empty hallway with the echoing staircase, Derinoe's voice comes quiet.

“Thank you, Anaea”

For once, the knocking is quiet. Derinoe will take the reprieve, however small. Shifts are a year long.   
There are still so many months to go before this one is complete and she knows, sooner or later, the knocking will come again.

-

**Gotham**

One of the first things Diana notices is temperature, the extremes of it. The range of tolerance is so small now it requires near constant attention. She has burned her fingertips on heated surfaces and hot mugs. Ground beef straight out of the fridge has made her hands numb. Cold is a different beast now. The first time she shivers, Kate laughs at her. I told you to bring a jacket, she says, but she still lets her use hers. The first time her skin prickles with goosebumps, Diana is fascinated. 

The first snuggle with Kate against the chilly Gotham breeze is one of the loveliest things she's ever experienced. Before, warmth had always been pleasant and affectionate touch had always been intimate. They had always gone together nicely, but now, the pocket of warmth created between them and how their bodies press together makes her feel cared for and loved even as they walk innocently down the street. 

Care is different. There is nothing casual about it now. There is no blanket of love that nestles beneath her every thought and feeling anymore. It bothers her that she cannot extend her care as far and to as many people as she once could, but in exchange, care has become concentrated, distilled to just its core components. Tending to each other's wounds in the quiet of a shared home has become terribly, wonderfully intimate. Diana had never known she could feel so connected to someone through something as simple as cotton and disinfectant. Until now, she has never experienced the surprise of learning you can care so much. 

There still is the loss of purpose in her narrowed capacity to care and feeling the urge to be of service in a grander scope but unable to do so is frustrating. It's the first thing that puts her in a sour mood and robs her of her humor. This feeling of being so limited. During the day, Diana has found a small sense of purpose at the small clinics and care centers popping up around Gotham. Of course, it's not the same. Nothing will match the level of compassion she remembers having. 

She is now someone of grand ideas and intentions without the means in which to accomplish them. Her soul and her body are no longer aligned, no longer in agreement. This is not who she is meant to be.

-

The first time she patrolled Gotham with Batwoman, she forgot her new softness and took a hit from a 2x4 with rusted nails jutting out its end that punctured the skin of her shoulder and shredded it. The sharpness of the pain was surprising. Before, something like that would have stung, maybe lightly scratched. Now, the wound was deep and jagged. 

Diana scolded herself while Kate doused a cotton pad with rubbing alcohol, scrunching her nose at the astringent smell. She should have been more conscientious, should have been faster, or smarter, or perhaps just a little bit stronger. She had never thought things like this so disparaging before and she thought of all the times she had talked Kate down from circular thoughts as these.

“This is going to hurt,” Kate said when she turned to her with the cotton pad. She let loose a string of apologies when the cotton touched flesh and Diana hissed. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” 

It took Diana off guard. Kate was genuinely more upset than she was and it made her smile a little right before she winced again. Upon first meet, she would not have guessed Kate Kane was someone who felt so terribly about such a small necessary hurt. It was both adorable and endearing. 

This is the trade off to feeling so vulnerable, to knowing that everything she cares for can be taken away so easily. It's the way feeling condenses, how love is magnified, focused on smaller moments, smaller goals, and fewer people. It's not that she doesn't love any less, not that she is not still in love with the world. It is only that there is a difference now in the love she has for Kate and the love she has for strangers and the difference is so intense, it stuns her. 

-

“And it's permanent?” Jason Todd, the Red Hood, asks, evading a kick and flipping backwards, across the gap of two close buildings and landing on the other side. He crouches where he lands and looks across the way puzzled at her.

“Yes, Jason, it is.” Diana answers, using the momentum of the kick that missed Jason to spin and intercept Kate's punch with a raised forearm. She smiles at her passed the gold of her hand guard and Kate can't help but return it. 

“That can't be right.” He calls from across the way.

“You know how to give a Wonder Woman back her wonders?” Kate throws out a series of blows at every opening she sees, but each one is blocked. “Cause we're open to suggestions.”

“Can't you just ask the gods or something?” Jason is back over the gap and while he aims low with a sweep of the leg, Kate goes high, coming down hard with an elbow aimed at Diana's shoulder. 

Diana doesn't move the way they think she will. Instead of evading, she drops to a crouch with all her weight on the leg facing him to fortify her balance, moving her shoulder out of Kate's trajectory. Jason's foot comes hard against her shin but doesn't move it. It hurts him more than it hurts her. 

“She doesn't want to.” 

Kate misses the shoulder she aimed for and comes down awkwardly, losing her balance. She has to catch herself against the cement and throw herself back to her feet away from then. Diana straightens and offers a hand to Jason, pulling him up. She sees the question in his eyes and wonders if he's disappointed. 

“Wait, you don't, Diana?” he asks once he's on his feet, brushing his hands off his pants. 

“Undoing this will have a different cost,” she tells him with a glance toward Kate. “One I am unwilling to pay.”

He's frowning. He's a mix of things right now, but most of it is offense, though she isn't sure at what yet. It's hard to believe, perhaps. Diana is starting to see that not many other people would have made the same choice. He's scratching his head as he turns to walk toward a wire fencing that cages the a/c unit. 

“But you're Wonder Woman,” he says, leaning against it. “You're the one who loved me the same before and after the pit. You were always on my side, even against Bruce. You were my first crush.” 

“Careful, pup,” Kate says and arches an eyebrow his way. 

He shoots a quick apology to her and then shoves his hands in his pockets still thinking. Diana comes to place a hand on his shoulder. She thought people would have difficulty with it, but she hadn't expected them to struggle so hard. There will be a time when she will stand before Athena inside the armory of Themyscira, broken and ashamed, but for now at least, she still believes in herself and doesn't understand why others wouldn't.

“I'm still that person, Jason,” she says, quietly and then draws him into a hug. “That part of me has not changed.” 

“And you're still a better fighter than us. Hell, together we only landed three decent hits on you tonight,” he says as he pulls away, “But shit, Diana, aren't you angry at all? They took something away from you, something special, just because you brought home a girl.”

She can't help the small laugh despite his serious demeanor and gives a nod in agreement. “I am upset at times, yes. It takes longer to rationalize feelings now, but some things, Jason, some 'girls' are worth bringing home.”

He lets out a huff of air, trying to reel in the indignant feelings in him, and looks at Kate who offers him a shrug. He turns back to Diana and says, “Man. You've been one surprise after another. First, you're dating Kate, of all people. No offense, Kate, but god knows why.” 

“Some offense taken, actually.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“Now, your gifts are gone because you're dating Kate. What's next, you two getting gay married?”

Diana and Kate exchange glances for too long a time and he catches it. His mouth drops. 

“You didn't-” he starts. “That's what those things on your hands are for, aren't they?” 

“Not so much gay married,” Kate says carefully choosing her words, “and more so amazonian pair bonded? Or possibly? Can be, anyway, but not yet, technically. It's complicated.” 

Diana lifts her left hand to show him her hand guard and the moon catches the metal and almost makes it glow. She holds her hand out so he can get a good look at it. 

“It's a guard, Jason. A small bit of protection for the weaker hand,” she says, “and it signifies to other amazons I have a person I call my heart.”

Kate translates. “It says she's taken. Get lost.” 

He smirks at Kate and then turns back to Diana a little mournfully. He says, “Hey, look. I'm not going to tell you who to love and if they're worth their weight in powers, but it still feels like a loss, a real loss for you, maybe the world too.”

“Listen, Jason, no one gets what you're saying more than I do, but you, me, everyone? We all have to ask ourselves why we think she's responsible for the whole damn planet,” Kate says. “That's a shit expectation to have of her.” 

Diana places a hand on her shoulder and the touch makes Kate draw back the anger. She folds her arms and looks away, still upset. This isn't the first time someone has said something along these lines, that the world is somehow lessened and she was selfish, that they disagree with her decision. Jason doesn't stress she chose Kate over everyone else, but others have, as if it were obvious the world holds more value than the one she loves.

“There wasn't time to consider the impact of my choice beyond me and Kate. In the seconds I had, I chose what my heart was first pulled to,” Diana says, softly. “You may be right. The world may have benefited more with my abilities than I will ever benefit without them, but I disagree and I will take that chance on Kate.”

Jason considers her a moment, still caught between rational thought and irrational feelings. Diana can see him attempting to reconcile the two while the three of them head back toward the stairwell. 

He holds the door open for them and when Kate passes by, he says, “Christ, Kate. You better make her damn happy then now that she's gone and done that for you.” 

She eyes him over her shoulder and says, “Watch me.” 

-

She misses flight the most. Some days will find her on the roof, staring out into the city, trying to remember what the countryside beyond looked like from above. She had never known how intertwined flight was with her emotions until now. Before, when she was happy she could express it by literally floating. A good flight could always lift her spirits and help give her perspective when she needed it. Now, she feels weighed down with emotions that are new or strangely different from how she once knew them. It's difficult to make sense of them, harder to process feelings objectively. Sometimes, when they are out, Diana will stop just to watch doves sail on air currents above them and Kate can see the longing in her, one mixed with envy and grief.

She has had to find another way of coping with difficult emotions. So far, music helps the most. At the moment, string quartets are her favorite, but she has not yet come across a genre she can't find something to love about, including anything that can be heard on the radio. She finds something to love in all of it and her ability to do so surprises Kate. Sometimes, Kate will return home to the apartment filled with the sounds of her latest discovery. She will always find Diana resting on the couch with her eyes closed just listening. It's really the only time she sees her relaxed now, closer to how she was before.

Kate always joins her on the couch. Usually, Diana will lean against her and rest her head on her shoulder. Sometimes, she will lay down and place her head in Kate's lap. Every time, they will both sit quietly and listen to whatever emotion Diana is feeling her way through to find whatever emotion she is trying to get to. Whatever emotion she finds at the end of that process, Kate is there with her to comfort, celebrate, or mourn.

-

The apartment is dark and empty. Quiet. The residents have gone out hours ago and it waits for their return. Finally, the fire escape rattles and echoes. The kitchen window opens and Diana steps through, gesturing with her hands as she continues the conversation. 

“I'm not some invalid, Kate,” she says, stepping onto the padded bench below and finally to the tile floor and Kate follows with a gym bag. Both their knuckles are scraped and their bottom lips are split. “I can still fight. You don't have to protect me.” 

Kate slides the window shut behind her and follows her through the kitchen.

“I'm sorry. I overreacted a little,” she says, throwing her bag in the hallway closet, before walking into the room where Diana gives her an unamused expression just before stripping her shirt off and slinging it in the laundry basket. 

“A little?” She turns to the dresser where she retrieves fresh clothes for them both. 

“Okay, maybe a lot.” Kate concedes the point as they both finish undressing. Then she follows Diana around the bed and into the bathroom. 

“You made the boy wet himself.” 

“Good.” Kate lets out a wicked laugh as the faucet turns on. 

“Kate.” 

“What? He deserved it.” 

The bathroom door closes, shutting out the only source of light and leaving the bedroom and the apartment to the quiet dark again.

-

In the absence of Athena's wisdom, Diana has become insatiably curious. She reads a myriad of books from giant tomes of folklore to dull college textbooks Kate still has lying around. She conducts experiments, mostly with herself and her body's new vulnerability. There are so many things to test. At what point does pressure become pain? Break skin? Leave bruises? How long does healing take now? How are different wounds treated and dressed? 

Kate finds the experiments morbid and upsetting, but lets her be. It's better finding out now while she is full of curiosity and fascination than later when her body fails her in a time she needs it to be what it used to be. Every new day, she watches Diana closely, trying to determine how much closer she's stepped to the point where curiosity is replaced by frustration. 

There have always been moments of sorrow that come randomly. Sometimes it passes within a day. Other times it lingers for a few more. Kate notices that Diana is quicker to anger and easier to annoy. That happens when one feels less than before, when one feels powerless and limited. It has been interesting finding her buttons. Learning which ones to press or not becomes a game of Russian roulette. Kate has learned that leaving dishes in the sink over night is not a battle worth choosing. She now knows that shoes have a place and heaven forbid they're found anywhere but that place, which is precisely why she makes sure at least one pair can be found carelessly tossed somewhere else. 

She also learns that pets are not an option. The presence of a companion she can no longer speak with, furred, feathered, or scaled, is a constant reminder of who she isn't anymore and how the world feels much more lonely without that connection. Kate buys her a cactus instead. They name him Oscar. They find him a little sombrero and decorate his pot for the holidays.

-

She is watching Kate as she moves around the kitchen. The Gotham Gazette is spread open on the counter and she moves back and forth trying to finish reading an article. Diana is seated at the small breakfast table waiting for her tea to steep. Her eyes track Kate as she steps back from the Gazette, turns only when she is too far to read, retrieves a mug from a cabinet by the sink, and returns to the article. The only sounds in the air are the coffee brewing and the soft padding of Kate's bare feet against the tile. Finally, Kate is still, leaning over, forearms folded on the countertop as she rests her chin in her palm.

Diana pushes herself up from her chair and makes her way across the room to the kitchen where Kate stands on one foot, lightly tapping the toes of the other on the tile. She stands close behind her for a few seconds but receives no acknowledgement.

“Kate.” 

“Mmhm?”

Kate lifts the corner of the newspaper and flips the page. Diana presses against her, places her hands on the counter on either side of her, and leans over. She doesn't miss the way Kate's shoulders hunch lightly in reaction to the warm breath on her skin. She lays a soft kiss on the back of her neck that makes Kate shiver and says her name again. This time, Kate glances over her shoulder at her.

“Can I help you with something, princess?” she asks in a voice that tries to be neutral but fails. 

Diana says against her skin, “Are you busy right now?”

Kate takes a breath and then lets out a soft laugh, hanging her head as a thought crosses her mind. 

“That may have been the sexiest, most diplomatic come on I've ever gotten,” she says.

Carefully, she turns to face Diana still wedged between her and the counter, leaning back and propping herself up with her elbows. The smirk she gives says that she has something else she wants to say, but Diana dips her head and kisses her. She doesn't stop, not when Kate pushes herself up from the counter, not when she slowly walks her backwards a few steps, not until they are both winded and breathing. 

“Tell me what you want first, Diana,” she says, denying her anything more than chaste kisses now. 

“I want you. Right now.” 

Kate mulls this over for a second. “It'll pass this time, but next time, I want specifics on how you want me to make love to you.” 

With the tiniest smile, Diana leans over and grazes her lips with her own. Her voice is soft and breathy despite its almost demanding request.

“Not love, Kate. War. Make war to me right now.” 

Kate nearly collapses in the kiss that follows this. She grabs Diana's wrist, pulls her out of the kitchen, and through the apartment to the bedroom, leaving a trial of clothes on the floor behind them. Kate pushes her on the bed and follows, claiming her lips once more, and then tells her to turn around. She's only halfway turned when she feels Kate against her back with a greedy hand gripping her everywhere. Diana has to hold herself up with her left hand flat against the mattress and Kate covers it with her own, intertwining their fingers, the complementary colors of their guards stark and beautiful against each other.

Her head hangs low and her hair spills over one shoulder and pools dark on the white sheets. Kate's hand slides down the length of her stomach, to the gap between her thighs, and grips her tight. Her whole body moves with the force and Kate moves with her, encourages her, tells her not to hold back. Teeth graze the skin of her shoulder. The bite is sudden and unexpected, a sharp ache almost, deep in the muscle, and it makes her buck. She doesn't realize that she is the one making that sound, the loud moan, still caught on the startling discovery that a little pain could bring so much pleasure. 

It leaves her breathless, gasping for air, and struggling to make sense of it all. She curls into herself. Kate holds her tight from behind and strokes her hair tenderly, whispering soft, sweet words. 

“It's okay. You're okay. I've got you.” 

It's the first time she weeps before understanding why. She's not okay. Everything is different. She is different. Even the way she enjoys pleasure is different. Who is she now? If not the Diana she knew herself as, if not Wonder Woman, then who? Kate presses into her back and doesn't let her go.

-

Kate sits up until the early hours just after midnight. She'd given up cigarettes nearly a decade ago, but she can't remember another time she wanted one as badly as she does now. Diana is sleeping in the bed and Kate sits on the couch with her legs drawn on the cushion trying not to remember how she cried in her arms. This is it, isn't Athena? The real cost of the pair bond. It isn't just bearing the knowledge that she is the cause, it's also the torment of watching Diana change, suffer right beneath her fingertips, knowing there is nothing she can do for her. 

The bitterness in her almost boils over. How could Athena do this to someone she calls her favored? How could she be so cruel? Kate catches a whiff of that other worldly perfume and straightens on the couch. 

“You can relax, Kate.” Aphrodite walks around the end of the couch in view almost and it's like she brings her own source of light. “It's no one but me and I bring no danger.” 

Kate looks at her suspiciously and then glances around the quiet apartment. “What are you doing here?” 

Aphrodite smiles. “Something troubles you.” 

Kate scoffs and reaches over to grab a hooded sweatshirt draped over the back of the couch. She tosses it to Aphrodite and then picks up the mug of decaf she'd been nursing. Aphrodite catches the clothing and inspects it. 

“Put some clothes on for chrissakes,” Kate says. “And it's not me. It's Diana. Your sister is a bitch.”

“She can be.” Aphrodite takes another moment before she figures out the hoodie and then pulls it on. It's a loose fit and the sleeves spill over her hands letting only the fingertips peek out. “She does love Diana, in her way. “ 

“Oh yeah? What way is that? Sadism?” 

“The only way she knows how to love, Kate,” Aphrodite says, crossing her arms. “With compassion tempered by wisdom and with deliberate forethought that is as cruel as it is kind. She has plans and an end goal greater than any of us can see.” 

Her eyes narrow. “I still want to punch her.”

“I'm sure she's aware.” Aphrodite smiles. “But this isn't a problem you can punch.” 

“I've been told that before and I still haven't come across a problem I couldn't hit.”

Aphrodite only laughs softly. Kate sulks on the couch and stares out the window into the dark Gotham night peppered with lights. The first time she looked out this window at night she had found the scene hauntingly beautiful. Now it's just haunting, a black hole that has swallowed all the stars. 

“It's been some time since I've advised a mortal. I've nearly forgotten the formalities.” Aphrodite perches on the arm of the sofa, bare legs still shining impossibly bright beneath the dark blue hoodie. “So, Katherine Kane, you have questions. I may have answers. Shall we give this a go?”

It's a small comfort to Kate that Aphrodite is easier to talk to than Athena and she has to appreciate her light enthusiasm. She gives in and then gives a nod, but she does have questions.

“I have to ask,” Kate says, sitting up straighter. “Diana's been pretty passionate since we got back. Like way more than before.”

Aphrodite laughs at her. “Is the frequency a problem?”

“No, the frequency is fine. That's never been an issue anyway,” Kate tells her, making a face. “I just didn't know if-” 

“If you should be worried? Your worry is quaint, but unnecessary,” Aphrodite says turning on the sofa arm to face her, sitting cross legged with her hands in her lap. “It will level out soon.” 

“Okay, but that's not what I'm asking.” Kate sips her now cold coffee. “What's happening to her?”

“There are different kinds of love, Kate. There is the common love everyone has, your lowest common denominator if you will, and then there's the one that we call divinely inspired. I'm sure you can figure out what each of those are and which one she gave up.” Aphrodite holds her in her gaze with a mysterious smile. “Right now, she feels the absence of that love and she's trying desperately to fill the void. You do her good by giving her yours.”

Now Kate really needs a cigarette. She brings up a knee and rests an elbow on it, running her hand through her hair. The corner of her eye catches the silver and the red quartz and she thinks of her hand on Diana's, gripping tight with fingers laced. She holds out her hand to look at her guard.

“It made her cry today.”

“I would imagine it will from time to time. She has to experience everything all over again without the blessing of our gifts,” Aphrodite says, “and she doesn't have Athena's rationale to help her make sense of life anymore.”

“What can I do?” Kate asks, leaning her head against her hand and making a face at how helpless she feels. “How can I help her?”

“Love her, Kate,” Aphrodite says, balancing impossibly on the armrest. “There will come a day she will feel she is not capable of it anymore and when that day comes, she will need yours more than anything else.”

Kate frowns but nods her head and thanks her. Aphrodite moves to remove the hoodie to return it, but Kate lifts a hand and stops her.

“Keep it,” she says. “Feel free to wear it next time you drop by.”

A delicate eyebrow lifts on Aphrodite's forehead and she says, almost haughtily, “Most mortals revel in my presence. You're a curious one, Kate of the dawn. I'll try not to take offense.” 

“Trust me, I would have been all about that five years ago,” Kate says, but she knows Aphrodite can see behind it. “But you're not her and she's all I want.”

“Spoken like a true romantic.”

Kate watches her lift into the air with a mysterious breeze, sees the smile that lights her face, before she faces from view. Kate closes her eyes and lets out a long breath. Then she pushes herself up from the couch and makes her way back to the dark bedroom where Diana sleeps with her back to her. Kate climbs in the bed, careful not to rock it too much, and nestles against her, draping an arm around her. If Diana needs love to fill her, then she will give her all she needs until she is overflowing with love once again.

 

Continued...


	7. To Presume Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana settling before being unsettled once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The easiest way to think of Donna is that she's adopted. Let's stick with that.
> 
> I refer to Diana's as the Golden Perfect because that's my favorite version of it. Donna's is the Lasso of Persuasion. I've taken to calling it the Silver Persuasion.

**11 Months Ago**

She remembers the way the gegenees saw her through the crack of the door as Derinoe was struggling to push it shut, how he hunkered down and began barreling up the stairs toward them and she could see the shadows of more on the wall of the large spiral staircase. She remembers thinking that there was no time and that it would be a waste to risk all four of them on the chance they could slay these creatures. The door had to be closed. 

She remembers vaulting over Derinoe's back and holding off the creature, how the pounding of feet echoing in the ancient spiral staircase was deafening, and she remembers shouting at Derinoe to close the door. Once, twice, dodging giant flying fists, and still the door was open. It was when the back of his right hand caught her and smashed her into the wall that Clete shouted a third time at Derinoe that she actually listened. 

Clete remembers how she was shut away in darkness, the unspeakable cold of it. Still. She is an amazon so she damn well better die as one. She'd dropped below his fist and slit the tendon of his other foot. The brute lost his balance on the top of the stairs, but before he tumbled backward, he grabbed her in his hand, and they fell down in the pitch black together. 

And she fell, and fell, and then fell even more, until she blacked out completely.

Clete awoke, lying half in a shallow pool of water. Before her stretched a palace of bone and stone, grand and captivatingly eerie. She was surprised she was still alive and then questioned if she really was. If you die in the underworld, how do you know if you really died? Does Hermes still come? Does he still take you all the way back to the beginning to see the judges? In the distance overhead, she could hear the screech of harpies. Clete heard her step into the pool of water before she saw her. It was Persephone, impossibly tall, coming to stand beside her cradling a flame in her cupped hands.

“Ask for protection, amazon, and I will see that it is granted,” Persephone said and her voice sounded everywhere and nowhere all at once, the light of the flame flickering and dancing across her flawless face. 

Exhausted, Clete pulled herself up to her knees, sitting on her feet. She lowered her head in reverence and asked for protection. Persephone bent and presented the flame. 

“This sacred flame is from Hestia's hearth, the very hearth that warms and welcomes life in the whole world,” she said. “It will keep the soul inside you yours down here.”

She brought the flame to Clete's chest and pushed it inside her. A surge of new life enveloped her, renewed and restored her to the best of herself, removing even the small scars of battle from her knuckles. Amazed, Clete looked back up at Persephone, who tenderly picked her up from the water and led her inside her palace of bone. 

Above, a harpy had stopped and hovered, watching the whole thing unfold. She looked up at the dark ceiling with her yellowed eyes from where the amazon fell and then back down at the door Persephone and her supplicant disappeared behind. An amazon? Yes, an amazon. One who now carried a flame of Hestia within her. How nice, how nice, how wretchedly nice.

-

**Gotham, now**

On a chill Saturday night, Kate walks Diana through the doors of Gotham Hall's Valedenci Conservatory for a performance by the Gotham Symphony Orchestra. The program is called An Evening with Schubert. Tonight, Diana is stunning in a white one shoulder gown, the chiffon drape floating behind her as she walks. Kate turns heads in a sleek black sleeveless with silver beading down the sheer back. Their guards pop against the elegance and several people compliment their unique jewelry, ask where they can get one themselves. Sorry, Kate tells them. Custom made, one of a kind. Diana is more honest. They are amazon, she says, and only worn under specific circumstances, but she doesn't tell them what those circumstances are.

Once, Kate has to stop to admire their reflection in some windows. They are a striking pair, complementary contradictions, two very different worlds and personalities that still somehow worked. Diana brightens her. Kate hopes she does not dim her. 

This is not an event or a crowd Kate normally frequents, especially since it meant meeting family, or worse, friends of family, but it was one of the first things that made Diana light up since coming to stay with her in Gotham. For that, it's worth the risk. Just before they take their seats, Kate catches sight of her step-mother, Catherine Hamilton, chatting with some friends on the other side of the auditorium. 

“My step-mother is here,” she says, holding Diana's drape as she sits. 

“Is she?” Diana asks, looking around. “I would like to say hello.” 

“And I would like not to,” Kate sits down beside her. “She'll make a big deal about me being here with you, in this.”

She gestures to her dress and catches the look Diana gives her, a small knowing smile, and returns it with a well practiced frown that makes Diana laugh softly and look away. 

As the lights dim, Kate gives in and says, “We'll find her before we leave. I know she'd love to see you.”

Diana thanks her quietly as the symphony files in and takes their seats. Kate has to admit that it's nice, going somewhere public with someone beautiful she wants to show off. The sensational headlines of the two of them have died down and it's no longer a chore to be out. Every now and again, a reporter or a photographer finds them or some social media personality comments that it's a surprise they're still together. It always makes Kate feel a little smug. 

In the middle of the second half, Diana reaches over and takes her hand in the dark. Kate can feel the cool metal of her gold hand guard beneath her fingertips when their fingers lace. The music swells at its highest point of emotion. Diana squeezes her hand and doesn't let it go and Kate wonders what she's feeling that moves her so much. 

When the performance is over and everyone is filing out, Catherine sees them before they do. Kate can recognize her voice anywhere, especially in the way she says her name. 

“Katie! Is that you and Diana I see there?” 

They turn to see Catherine waving them down. At first, Catherine had been surprised that Diana, the Wonder Woman, was on the arm of her daughter, but for the first time since she entered Kate's life, she hasn't disapproved of her choice in partners. Diana receives her with a graceful smile and a hug and Kate mostly receives Catherine's hug awkwardly.

“Don't you look lovely, Diana,” Catherine says, holding on her to hand and stepping back to take her in. “And Katie, look at you! You're so beautiful. She has been such a good influence on you.” 

Diana laughs. “That isn't true at all, Catherine. She has always been lovely.” 

“Yes, but now she's showing it,” Catherine says and Kate sighs. 

“I live to surprise you,” she says and feels Diana link their hands. “What brings you here tonight? Sir's not home yet, right?”

“Oh, I came with a new friend. Let me introduce you,” Catherine tells her, her eyes lighting up. She catches sight of someone over their shoulders and lifts a hand. “Oswald, over here! Come meet my daughter.”

The two of them turn to see Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, dressed to the nines in a tailored tuxedo and monocle, top hat perched on his balding head, holding an umbrella. He gives his version of a gracious smile and starts to make his way to them. Kate whirls around to look at her mother. 

“Cobblepot, Catherine. Really?” she asks and Catherine shushes her for fear he'll hear. “Don't you know who he is?”

“Kate,” Diana starts.

“No, Diana,” she says, “He's a mobster, a smuggler, a _villain_.” 

Catherine smacks her shoulder and shushes her again. “That's all in his past. He's turned over a new leaf, really, Katie.”

With quiet concern, Diana looks at her and says, “Catherine, are you positive about that?” 

“You girls worry too much. Of course, I'm positive. Just talk with him for five minutes.” She gives her daughter a look that begs. “Please, Katie.” 

Kate lets out a disapproving sigh, but nods. “Five minutes.” 

Cobblepot finally makes his way across the lobby to them and Catherine places a hand on his low shoulders as she introduces him. Kate manages a near sneer that could pass as a smile and Diana bends to shake his hand. 

“My, my,” he says, marveling. “This enchanting woman can't be Wonder Woman, can it? Catherine, my dear, your daughter has caught a real tiger in the sheets. Excuse my slip. Streets.” 

Kate can't contain her disgust at this, but Diana steps closer to her, hiding their linked hands behind them so he doesn't see how Kate squeezes her hand instead of punching him. 

“Oswald,” Diana acknowledges him with a nod. “It's interesting to see you outside usual circumstances.” 

He guffaws so hard he coughs and Catherine bends her knees to pat his back sympathetically. With a quick thank you to her, he pulls out his white gloves from his pocket and slides them on, gives a grin, then says, “The interest, Wonder Woman, is all mine.” 

“Cobblepot.” Kate says his name blunt and cold. “My mother says that you've gone good. I don't think I believe her though.” 

He eyes Kate up and down in a way that makes her feel gross, fixes his monocle, and then gives her the dirtiest smile she's had the displeasure of seeing. Cobblepot removes his top hat and feigns innocence. 

“Katie Kane, am I right?” he asks. “Or is it Kate? Kat? Candy?”

“Katherine.” Her eyes narrow.

“Katherine and Catherine. Imagine that.” He muses and says, “I've gone straight and narrow. I have my nightclub, work as a legitimate crime-free trader, and pay all my taxes. My dear, I'm as good as Gotham can get. How about you? Has the illustrious Diana – may I call you Diana? – made an honest woman of you?”

“Diana has been a real blessing for her,” Catherine says, oblivious to the way Cobblepot sizes Kate up and down. “But how could we expect anything less of Wonder Woman?”

“Indeed.” Cobblepot smiles.

Kate knows better than to make a scene here, in front of this crowd, and especially in front of her mother. She can tell Diana is concerned about her, because she reaches over with her free hand and touches her shoulder, and suggests that they wanted to make an early night tonight. Kate has to cease and desist, swallows her disgust to make some excuse and bids him and Catherine goodnight. Then she leads Diana away into the Gotham night.

-

“Did you hear what he called you?” Kate asks as they near the apartment building. “Perverted little fowl.”

“Let's not worry about him tonight,” Diana says in the low voice Kate always found soothing. 

Kate gives a huff but lets Diana fold her arm around hers and nestle closer and they walked with their breath misting in the cool air. It's not long after they hear their names from across the street and turn to see a man running their way, a note pad and pen in hand. A reporter. Great. How long has this one been waiting for them to get home?

“Diana – Wonder Woman, Ms. Kane,” he calls, catching up with them, spouting out his credentials for a publication she hadn't heard of. “A few questions?”

With a small roll of her eye, Kate grips Diana closer and guides her around him without answering, but he falls in line on Diana's other side and directs his questions to her instead. 

“Wonder Woman, can you tell our readers why Kate Kane of all people? Wouldn't you be happier with someone more like you? Someone like Superman?” 

The question would have bothered Diana normally, but the fact that it was asked in front of Kate brings a spark of offense to her eye. She stops to look at him, insulted. Before she would have been able to control how the indignation was expressed on her face, but now Kate sees how she isn't able to and gently pulls on her arm.

“Come on, Diana,” she says, but Diana stands firm.

“How dare you or anyone else presume to know what makes me happy,” she says to him, completely unnerved. “I am the one who knows my heart best and I trust your readers to believe and respect that moving forward.”

After another try, Kate is able to pull her away, up the steps of the stoop and into the building. When they are behind their door, it's Kate whose anger is voiced first. She tosses her keys in a bowl on the side table and lets out a huff of air and removes her jacket.

“What is wrong with tonight?” she says, nearly marching through the apartment “The nerve of that guy.” 

Diana takes hold of her elbow, stopping her in her tracks, and the action makes Kate look at her. She has already forgotten about the men who've soured Kate's mood and is only concerned for her now. 

“Kate, I have never once thought of us as contradictions,” she tells her tenderly, making sure she holds her attention. “I have always seen us as complements who better each other. I want you to know that.”

Kate's anger steams and reduces to disquiet. She crosses her arms, hates what she's about to ask, but knows she has to ask for her own sake.

“So, what is it you like about me?” she asks, frowning. “What's the draw for you? How do I make you better?”

Her frown deepens in a juvenile way but Diana draws her closer, smoothing hair by her temple.

“You remind me why it's important to love, why love makes me feel like my best self, even without my gifts.” She tucks red strands of her behind both her eyes and then let her palms slide down the length of her neck to her shoulders. “When you look at me, I feel like I'm still the Wonder Woman you admire.”

“You are, Diana. You always will be,” Kate tells her at first concerned and insistent. “You can't change who you are, gifts or not.”

Diana smiles, but Kate misses how uncertainty touches her eyes. Kate gives her a quick kiss and then starts for the bedroom, musing on wearing a nice suit the next time they go to one of these things.

-

The sheer joy Diana feels when she sees her sister, Donna, is arresting. In seconds, she is over the threshold pulling her into her arms and suddenly it feels like some of the weight she's been carrying is lifted. She can see so much of herself in Donna and also all the things she couldn't be as well. Donna has always been a tether to this world in the times Diana needed it the most, but now, she feels she's a tether to her old world. 

“I'm sorry I didn't come sooner,” Donna says as she enters. She gives Kate a hug. “Kate.” 

“Hey, kid,” Kate says with a smile. “Glad you could make it.”

“Been keeping her out of line?” Donna asks her. “Getting her into some good mischief?” 

“You know me, I'm always out of line and in some kind of trouble,” Kate says with a shrug. “She doesn't have a choice, I guess.” 

“Good. She needs more of that.” Donna nods and then turns to Diana who is retrieving a light jacket. “Ready?” 

“Yes. Let's go, Donna.” Diana gives Kate a kiss goodbye and promises to be back soon. Then she pockets her phone and follows Donna out. 

“Have fun,” Kate says, leaning on the door. “Don't bring her back without at least one misdemeanor, Donna.”

Donna flashes a grin and Diana gives her an endearing slightly scolding smile that Kate just returns and then they are down the stairs and around the corner. 

-

At Diana's request, they perch high above Gotham on the tallest tower around, sitting on the edge, with paper bowls of ice cream sundaes. It was definitely different being the one carried now, but the slight discomfort is worth seeing this view once more. Everything is beautiful from above, even Gotham. They both are lit by the softening glows of their respective lariats looped at their sides, the Golden Perfect and Donna's silver Persuasion acting like night lights against the dark sky. Donna nods toward Diana's hand guard with the pink plastic spoon in her mouth.

“So, you decided to recite?” she asks. “I thought you were planning to wait until next year.” 

Diana spreads the fingers of her left hand to look at her guard and says, “I thought so as well, but it felt right.” 

“And our lovely mother? How did she take it?” 

“She was delighted, of course.” With a groan, Diana gives her the face of survived torment only a sister could understand. “I was anxious. Kate was gorgeous.” 

“I'm sorry I wasn't there to witness for you.” 

“It's better you weren't. She would have pestered you about it as well.” 

“Ugh. You're right.” 

They share a small laugh over the one thing they both will always agree on regardless of how tense things may be between them; Hippolyta and her constant hassling about love and partnership. The chill breeze blows by them and Diana gives a small shiver, sets her bowl down for a moment, and zips up the jacket. She doesn't catch the way Donna watches her, a little alarmed, a little forlorn. They both look out onto the Gotham cityscape, the lights shining in the night and the sounds of the street far below them. The streaks of car headlights on the freeway is almost beautiful. 

“Kate says you've been having a hard time lately,” Donna says, quietly. 

Diana takes in a breath and stares out into the night before crossing her ankles. She admires the view of the street below just beyond her feet and admits to herself how much she misses it, floating above a city and seeing it from a perspective few people can. She scrapes the spoon along the sides of the bowl quietly.

“It's so different. Everything is familiar and strange at the same time. There is this awful emptiness inside me,” she tells her. “And I don't know how to fill it.”

“Can anything be done?”

“If I were to ask for a reversal, I fail my trial. I want Kate by my side in paradise more than anything.” Diana shakes her head. “But Donna, some days when I wake, I've forgotten and when I remember, it's like losing everything all over again.” 

She holds her hands in front of her looking down at them as if they had just been holding something precious just seconds ago, something that vanished before she had a chance to say goodbye. Then she grasps at open air. 

Donna reaches over and places a warm hand on her knee. “But you haven't lost everything. You're still an amazon, still our champion. You've still got the Perfect. And you still have me and Kate.”

“Yes, that's true.” Diana nods and covers her hand with hers. “I'm glad you two have settled things. I was almost afraid I would be mediating between you the rest of my life.” 

“It wasn't really dislike. It was more like mutual annoyance at first sight,” Donna says after her last bite. She sets her bowl aside. “She always had some witty comeback so it was fun finding her buttons.”

“She also found yours.” Diana reminds her. 

“Man, did she.” Donna almost sniggers at the memory. “I swore up and down you two weren't a good fit. What did I know? But you have to admit, from my point of view, it was kind of surprising.” 

“What was? Me and Kate?” 

“Well, yeah.” Her sister gestures with her hands as if the fact were obvious. “One, she's a Bat and she's more like a Jason Bat than a Dick Bat.” 

“This judgement from someone who comes to Gotham to check on Jason from time to time,” Diana says and ignores the look she receives at that. Donna glares, but chooses to ignore the comment. 

“Two,” she stresses, holding up two fingers, “she's funny.” 

There is a little offense in Diana at that. “I'm not allowed to find funny attractive?” 

“Your sense of humor is pretty dry, Diana,” Donna replies. “Kate is a whole different ballpark of funny.”

There is a long moment of silence between them as Diana considers her words. She leans back, palms flat against cement, and turns her eyes to the sky, the stars almost drowned out by the city lights. 

“I like that about her,” she says, caught somewhere in her thoughts. “She never lost that even when she thought I wouldn't reciprocate. So few people are like that around me.”

The small smile Donna shows her is one so genuine it makes Diana's heart feel light. Their relationship has always been rocky, but in the last few years, she's noticed how much closer she feels to Donna, how she feels the same sentiment reflected back at her. There are things about Donna she understands better now, things she would never have without Kate's perspective. 

“I always did know that whoever you chose was going to surprise us all,” Donna says, turning back to see the lights of a Boeing 747 in the distance. “Of course, you'd be drawn to someone whose authenticity is harder for us to see.”

“Her authenticity isn't the first thing that drew me.” 

“No? What else is there then? It's hard to imagine you thinking, 'Oh, no. She's cute. ...what do?'” Donna chuckles. 

Diana hesitates a moment before she says, “Something like that happened, yes.” 

“You did _not_ really think that.” 

“I thought a version of it.” 

“Which was what exactly?”

“'I like her smile. This is new. How do I approach this?'”

Diana's heart is filled with Donna's laughter, the sound of it like a breath of Themysciran air. Her spirit lightens with every second she hears it and it brings out her own. She can see the humor in it now. Who ever stopped to think Wonder Woman might be struck with thoughts like that? She wonders how the public opinion of her would alter if they were to know. 

“She's the best thing that's happened to you and me,” Donna says, trying to catch her breathe. “You're not that impossible sister I had to live up to anymore. Now, you're just like me, freaking out when someone cute smiles our way.” 

“Freaking out.” Diana tries out the words, smiling as she brings her gaze down to her lap, almost shyly, a new feeling for her. “Yes, I can relate to that now.”

Donna bumps their shoulders and then laughs, surprised when Diana returns the bump. They sit looking out into the night of Gotham with its sea of artificial stars and continue chatting. They don't know it, but it is the last moment they will spend together like this before everything changes. In the next thirty minutes, they will be in Robinson Park, and Diana will watch nearly everything she cherishes fall apart in her hands.

-

While Diana enjoys time with her sister, Kate spends the night looking at Penguin's file and researching his movements for the past few months. There is something in her gut flashing red warning signs and she can't shake the feeling. Of all the socialites in Gotham Penguin could befriend, he just happens to befriend the heiress to one of the most prolific weapons developer in the United States? It's a little too convenient for her liking. 

Cobblepot is smart though and he knows how to hide his tracks. Kate gets nowhere real fast and sighs, collapsing against the back of the couch and setting the laptop aside. She hates doing this, but she pulls out her phone and dials, listening to the ringtone. 

“You know this isn't a secure line, right Kate?” Barbara Gordon says on the other line. 

“Yeah, I know,” Kate says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Look, I know you don't owe me anything, but I have a favor to ask anyway.” 

“What is it?'

“My mother has been the rich social butterfly she's always been. Can you track her activity for the last six months? The usual avenues.” 

“You want me to track ...your mother?” 

Kate sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I know what it sounds like, but once you start, you'll see why I'm asking.” 

She can hear Barbara breathe on the other end, thinking, before she answers. “I'll see what I can do and get back to you.” 

“I owe you, Barbara.” 

“Just take care of Diana. Tell her I said hi.”

“I will.”

Before she can hang up, Kate can hear a beeping on Barbara's end before her own watch flashes and activates her com. She can hear the commotion over two speakers, Barbara's and her own, and Jason's voice is faint in the background of the call in one ear and loud and clear in the other. 

“Blacks and Whites in Robinson Park, BeeGee. Tons of them,” he shouts and there is the high pitched squeak of bike tires turning hard on pavement. “Wonders senior and junior caught in the middle, We could use some help right now!” 

“Tell him I'll be right there.” Kate is off the couch and suited shouting at the phone still on the couch, still counting the minutes of the call. 

-

This is what Donna Troy knows. She knows that the group of mercenaries they're fighting right now are not a unified team. They work well within small units, but horribly as a whole. It's a fact she and Diana utilize almost too well. While Diana distracts and leads half away, Donna leads the other half, giving them better leverage, and opening a clear exit for the unfortunate bystanders cowering in bushes and behind benches.

“Get out of here! Go!” Donna shouts at them, waving a hand to shoo them. Most are brave enough to chance it, but a few still cower in their hiding spots. 

The second thing Donna knows is that there are way too many of them carrying an arsenal with designs and tech she's never seen before and Diana doesn't have her gifts. Donna focuses on taking out the gunmen. She catches a bullet with one of her bracers, grips a nearby trashcan, and nails the shooter hard as he tries to run. A few black sedans screech outside the iron gates and she sees more men file in, brandishing military grade assault rifles, every single barrel pointed at her sister. Where the hell do these guys get their hands on these things?

Donna moves before her brain can think, forcing her way through the men between them. She vaults over a bench, above the heads of a few men, and uses a tree to change her trajectory back on path, slamming feet first into the chest of a large man with a black mask over his head. Diana has dashed into the grass to avoid most of the gunfire and is able to block a few stray others. She lets out a cry when one grazes her shoulder, tearing through the soft material of the jacket. 

A batarang crashes into one of the armed men and they all lift up to see Batwoman and Red Hood, landing hard in their midst before they're all unconscious on the ground, weapons scattering.

“Get her out of here!” Batwoman shouts at Donna as she comes to Diana's side. She blocks a punch from her right and slams her left fist in his face and there's a sick crack as the metal of her guard cracks his jaw.

“No,” Diana shouts back, loosing the Golden Perfect that was hidden beneath her jacket. The gold lasso wraps around a man and he's pulled into a few others, before she calls it back. She catches a fist with it, twists it around his wrist, and uses the hold to flip him over. 

Then she looks at Batwoman and says, “I'm an amazon, Batwoman. We don't run.” 

“Well, you heard the amazon.” Red Hood pulls his guns from their holsters and turns back to the fight.

“Shut it, bird boy.” Batwoman doesn't try to hide the loud curse that escapes her lips, knocking a guy out with an elbow. 

“Chat later, Bats,” Donna scolds them, knocks the wind from an assailant and then spins him around with her to shield herself from a few punches his buddies throw. 

She doesn't see the two people behind the bush at first, but Diana does. All Donna sees are the five armed men filing in and all of them aiming at different targets. From the corner of her eye though, she sees Diana rush forward, toward the fire, to the bush where Donna finally sees the two sets of tennis shoes. No. Oh, god, no. 

Donna is on her feet faster than she's ever been, pulling her own silver lasso free and shouting. “Give me cover!” 

Red Hood points his guns and gives her cover fire, clearing a path to her sister. He sees it just as Donna sees it and behind him, they know Batwoman sees it as well. Diana won't make it. She's not fast enough. 

“Diana!”

The men open fire. Red Hood returns fire. Batwoman is rushing the armed men. Donna throws out her lasso and prays. She catches Diana's wrist and pulls hard enough to yank her out of the line of fire, but the scream, the awful scream her sister lets out when she sees the bullets rip through the two civilians. Donna will never forget the anguish in it or the sheer heartbreak on Diana's face when she understands she wouldn't have been able to save them anyway. It's such a simple action, a dash, something she could have done so easily before. It was a situation she could have easily handled without casualties before. At the realization, something inside Diana shatters.

“Grab her and fall back!” Batwoman barks the order and none of them object. 

Donna grabs Diana by the shoulder and carries her up over the gate and out of the park. Her sister doesn't fight her. She is lifeless, as empty and useless as a limp doll in a toy store not bringing joy to a child.

 

Continued…


	8. A Blur of Hope, Dissipating

**Below**

From the beginning, Clete was allowed to walk about the palace of bone unaccompanied. It wasn't for a while she was allowed outside its doors to explore the little expanse of the underworld around it. Persephone hadn't thought it safe enough. Clete didn't understand why. After all, she'd said with the flame of Hestia inside her, Clete is somewhere between living and dead, belonging to neither realm. The flame keeps the underworld from seducing her soul away. There were souls down here in the underworld who would rip that flame from her chest and leave her to whither. 

At first, Clete stays relatively close, but soon she's marked a safe route along the edge of tartarus. Lately, it's been fascinating to gaze over the divide into that tortured place. Clete stopped counting the years she's been down here after the second, but it's been ages since then. Time passes faster down here and it makes her wonder. How long has it been for Euryleia? They are pair bonded, but she can't feel her through the bond down here. It's the first time in such a long while Clete's soul has been alone and it is so lonely, so empty. 

If enough time passes though, if Euryleia earns the Fields, they will be in the same realm again. Then surely, Clete would feel the tug on their bond, right? Her rightful place beside Euryleia there in the Fields on the other side of the tormented lands of tartarus? She has to believe this. 

Every day she sits on the edge of tartarus and gazes out into it, hoping to see passed it, hoping to feel a pull or a calling inside her that tells her she can see her Euryleia again. Every day, she returns to the bone palace filled even more with loss. The only bit of comfort is the guard she wears on her hand and the stone Euryleia presented her.

-

**Gotham**

Diana is an open wound. Donna sets her down on the wood flooring of the apartment she shares with Kate. The Perfect still coiled and clutched in her trembling hands. 

“Why didn't you save them?” she demands stepping closer to her with a new found energy. “They were right there, Donna! Why didn't you pull them to safety?”

Donna knows her sister knows better than to ask that, knows she's aware of the realistic options they had, but she also knows that what she's really demanding is, if she only had time to save one, why did Donna rope her instead of them? 

“I'm sorry,” Donna says, softly. “My sister was more important to me.”

They are words that rip into Diana's false anger and tears it away, leaving her to face the truth of what she is really feeling. Her shoulders start to shake with the thoughts.

“They were right there, Donna,” she says, clutching the Perfect and gritting her teeth, “They were right in front of me and I couldn't, even though I tried, I couldn't-. I could have before.”  
“I know, Diana.” 

She sinks to the floor. Donna comes to a knee beside her as they wait for Jason and Kate to arrive. She places an arm around her sister and rests her head against her hunched shoulders. Diana can't get their faces out of her head, the hope and relief in their eyes when they saw her coming for them. She still sees how their hope gave way to terror when she was pulled away and how they turned just in time to be riddled with bullets. 

The fire escape rattles loudly and the window is yanked open. In the next moment, Kate is through it, yanking her cowl off and letting it fall to the floor. She drops beside Diana, who grips her hands, and leans into her. Donna stands and gives them space, coming to stand beside Jason as he removes his hood. 

“I'm here, ” Kate says, in soft hushed tones. “I've got you.” 

“I wouldn't have been able to save them.” Diana can make out the splash the first tear makes on the wood below her knees, illuminated by the Perfect's glow. The images replay in her mind over and over again and each time the false hope she put in their eyes tears off another piece of her soul.

“I know,” Kate says, pulling her into her arms. “I know.” 

“Wonder Woman would have, Kate.” 

She isn't listening. She is trapped in her memory of herself, how she used to be and going over all the ways she's not the same. Then Diana utters the words she knows are true, but could not voice before.

“I'm not her anymore.” 

The Perfect in her hands flickers, like a lightbulb fighting to stay alive. All four of them stop to watch as the flicker worsens and it glows unbearably bright. In Diana's quivering hands, it dissipates in the air with a blur, and she knows what has happened. She does not look up to see when she hears the gasps. She doesn't have to. The Golden Perfect is now looped at Donna Troy's side and its previous guardian, Diana of Themyscira, clutches at empty air. 

“Oh my god.” Kate rips her eyes from Donna and looks back at Diana who trembles with the tears she had been holding in, gasping at her empty hands. Kate can't hold her tight enough. She can't grip her hard enough. She can't make this better. “Oh, god, Diana.”

Diana can't hear anything. She barely feels a thing. She only knows one thing, one thought, one undeniable truth. The Perfect has left her. It's gone. And now, she's gone along with it. She is lost and she doesn't know how to find herself. Diana stoops over, wraps her arms around herself, and weeps. 

-

**Above**

By the light of Hestia's hearth, Diana's five gods watch the visage of Donna pulling Diana out of harms way, watch as their Diana bears witness to a slaughter that stops her heart cold in her chest. Demeter and Hestia are shocked and filled with sorrow. Aphrodite watches with a somber expression and Athena carries no expression, not one of sadness nor glee. It's Artemis who is angry. She faces Athena and points to the visage of Diana, now hunched over on the floor of the apartment, shaking horribly, and wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Is this what you had planned, Athena?” Artemis demands of her. “To do this to her? To see her changed this much? Is this really part of your grand plan?”

Athena levels her in her gaze and says, “Yes, Artemis. It is.” 

The answer enrages Artemis even more and she moves to grab Athena, but Aphrodite holds her back, hissing in her ear. 

“Think better of this before you act, Artemis,” she says in a hushed voice. “Since when has Athena's plans never come out for the better?”

“We didn't agree to bless her just to let this happen,” Artemis says to Aphrodite, ripping herself from her grasp. “We gave her gifts for a reason, Athena. Or are you so fixated on her chosen that you have forgotten that?”

Now, Athena stands and settles her sight on Artemis, her gray eyes flashing with the fury of Zeus still contained behind her neutral face. 

“I have not forgotten who she is to me, Artemis, nor who she is to you,” she says. “It was you who took to her first, was it not? You who ran next to her when she was too young to remember you and you who followed her silently when she was too old to forget you. You have never wished to be acknowledged, Diana's silent custodian. If she only knew how you fight for her even now against me.”

As she speaks, Athena steps forward, and with a hand on Aphrodite's shoulder, eases her aside so she and Artemis can stand facing each other as equals, the two gods who were first to bond with Diana. She offers a small smile and reaches over to touch her cheek.

“You and I, Artemis, did we not have great fun watching her grow?” she asks. “Did we not both hurt when she hurt, even the necessary ones that build a strong heart?”

Artemis is not moved. She glares and says, “Then why put upon her hurt that is unnecessary?” 

“Diana asked I deem her worthy of her Kate Kane. I intend to do just that,” she says and then turns back to the image of Kate sitting on the floor leaning against a wall tenderly stroking Diana's hair as she lays in her lap. “By the end of this, she will know the answer well enough she will not need me to say it.” 

“You're going to kill her, Athena,” Artemis tells her as Hestia lays gentle hands on her shoulders. “If not her body then her spirit and that is far worse.”

Hestia leads Artemis away, exchanging glances with Demeter as they walk by. Demeter takes in a heavy breath. She approaches Athena, escorting her back to her seat and speaking in a low voice.

“Persephone confirms her supplicant still thrives in her home,” she says, slowly crossing her arms. “But a year in the underworld has felt like a hundred to her and she is still but mortal, amazon or not. It takes its toll. Whatever you wish to do with this information, do it soon.” 

Athena nods and thanks her. 

“Tell your daughter to allow her supplicant to wander where she wills now. Do not confine her any longer.” 

“Of course.” Demeter pauses just long enough for Athena to raise a curious eyebrow and when she sees the silent question, Demeter can only frown. “I understand Artemis' concern here, Athena. Do you go too far this time? How much more could she withstand?”

“She will have to endure more than this, Demeter.” Athena takes in a slow breath and closes her eyes. “If she cannot suffer this, then she is no wonder at all, is she?” 

Athena knows Demeter doesn't like that answer, but respects her decision to stay quiet. She watches her leave. Aphrodite sidles up beside Athena.

“If you just tell us what you plan for her,” she says, “they will silence their judgment.”

“I cannot, not yet,” Athena tells her. “The manner of their questions would then change and I cannot afford their curiosity, or worse, their help.” 

Aphrodite lets out a small but long hum as if registering this new tell-tale information. Then she clasps her hands behind her back.

“Husband mine was not keen on your request, but of course he knows to comply. He will be finished in the time you have given.”

“Good, Aphrodite,” Athena says. “Now prepare. We are to be summoned soon.” 

-

On the wood floor, leaning against the white wall that separates the kitchen from the hallway, Kate, still in her Batwoman suit, sits with Diana curled in her lap. She'd sent Donna and Jason home an hour ago and Diana had not wanted to move, so she took a seat next to her and kept her company. She has never seen Diana broken, but now she has shattered and Kate doesn't know how to help her.

She gently runs her fingers through Diana's hair, combing it back out of her face, hoping Diana can feel the love she has for her, or perhaps feel anything at all. Diana lays her head in her lap and stares forward and her expression is blank and lifeless. 

“Let me get you to bed,” Kate tells her, easing herself out from under her before kneeling at her side. 

She helps her sit up and links her arms around her neck, before sliding her arms beneath her. Kate carries her down the hallway, turning sideways through the door, and lays her gently on the bed. It is a quiet few moments after while Kate helps change, then pulls the sheets back and guides her legs beneath them. She kisses her forehead before she turns to change herself. Diana reaches out from beneath the blanket and takes hold of her cape. The action makes Kate immediately turn, dropping to the bedside.

“I'm here,” she says, easing her grip from her cape and offering her hand instead. “I'm right here.” 

“I don't know who I am anymore, Kate.” Her voice is stiff and without feeling. 

“Hey, what are you talking about? You're my Diana, aren't you?” Kate tells her softly. “You're the charmer that gets all the Bats fluttering around you like idiots. You're my heart, remember?”

Diana's grip on her hand relaxes some and she closes her eyes, accepting the answer. Just tonight, she is Diana, Kate's heart, and that is enough for now, just for now. Kate squeezes her hand and then stands to leave, pulling Batwoman off her, and throwing the suit in the pile of special laundry. She pulls on an oversized shirt and leans against the dining table, crossing her arms and lowering her head.

“One of you patrons better explain this to me right now,” she says, “and you'd better hope I like the explanation.” 

The familiar gust of wind announces Athena's arrival and Kate lifts her head and glares at her. It's not the god she was hoping for, but it is the god most of her anger is directed to. There is still no emotion in Athena's expression and Kate finds her cold and callous, a god of wisdom who cannot feel.

“Kate of the dawn,” Athena says, coming to stand before her, unfazed by the hatred focused intently on her. “What is it you wish to know?” 

“Her lariat, the lasso,” Kate says, bluntly, enunciating every syllable. “What the hell happened and what the fuck does it mean for her?”

“The Golden Perfect is the trust of us gods made tangible. It has always been awarded to the pride of the amazons, their champion,” Athena says. “Truth has been woven in its fibers, embedded in its very structure. Therefore, only one who is true can wield it.”

“So what are you saying?” Kate asks her, tossing out a hand. “She's no longer true? What does that even mean?”

Athena folds her arms across her chest and says, “Diana is changed. Tonight, her heart has been broken beyond what the Perfect can recognize. As she no longer has the certainty of self to persuade it, the Perfect deemed her unworthy and christened a new champion.” 

“Can she get it back?” 

“If she weathers through and emerges the better, yes, she can.” 

Kate ponders this a moment, switching her weight to the other leg, and ignoring the cold draft that sends goosebumps up her arms. She nods. Okay. That's good. She can work with that.

“So, what does she need to do? How can I help her?” she asks, daring to hold a god in her defiant gaze. 

“You can't,” Athena tells her. “All you can do is stay beside her and watch.”

-

Aphrodite spends a quiet minute just watching Diana, curled beneath the blankets on the bed, motionless. Before, she would have sensed her here, but now she gives no indication of awareness, not even of the room she lays in. She comes around the side of the bed in view and Diana's eyes lift and finally see her. The way the color has drained from them almost alarms Aphrodite, but she says nothing. 

“My lady,” Diana says, pushing herself up to sit.

“Hello, daughter who knows me best,” Aphrodite says, offering a smile. “It has been a night of hurt for you, hasn't it?” 

She watches as Diana shuts her eyes and bows her head, how her eyebrow quivers lightly before she can bring the emotion in her back under control. Aphrodite extends a hand and places it gently on the crown of her head, stroking softly.

“Ask what question burns you, Diana. There is no need to hold it in.”

The permission is like uncapping a bottle on pressurized air and the relief in Diana escapes in an audible sigh and slight slumping of her shoulders. 

“Is this what Pallas has planned for me?” she asks. 

Aphrodite can see the real question in her words and steps closer, allowing Diana to rest her forehead against her. She combs her fingers in her hair. 

“You know as well as I do that I do not know the answer to that, only that she has plans,” she tells her. “Now ask what you really wish to ask but don't wish to know the answer to.” 

Diana presses her forehead firmer against her, ashamed, and says, “Is it Kate? Does she not approve of Kate?”

The Perfect held her soul together when her gifts were ripped from it, kept the pieces from falling away, but now there is nothing to keep it from crumbling. Diana's voice comes strained, impaled by the sharp splintered debris of her shattered soul, and everything in her succumbs to exhaustion. Aphrodite can see how depleted she is, how much she does not want to know if the answer to that question is yes.

“If that were true, it would be Kate's heart aching tonight, not yours,” she says. “I see it breaking even now. How you've endured these long months. I am full of such pride in you, Diana.”

Diana's face contorts and she apologizes for the unshed tears, unbecoming in the presence of a god, but Aphrodite shushes her and holds her face in the palm of one hand. There is nothing but gratitude in the thank you Diana says and for the first time since the roof with Donna, Diana breathes a little easy and accepts the warm affection from her god.

“I have come to remind you,” Aphrodite tells her, “all this you suffer, you do for a love you chose. You and your Kate still shine bright to me, even if it doesn't touch your eyes anymore. Draw strength from knowing this in the days to come, Diana, and above all else, continue to shine.” 

Diana draws comfort in her words and her touch, closing her eyes to draw as much from it as she can. She nods and thanks her. Then as silently as she came, Aphrodite is gone again, leaving only her lingering ethereal scent.

-

Kate curls her lip and looks away, trying to stifle the thoughts in her head from becoming words on her tongue, and says, “I'm going to be frank.” 

“That is an area in which you excel.” Athena draws up with the ghost of a smile on her lips. 

Kate ignores this and says, “You've made it clear that you don't like me and to be honest, I'm not that fond of you either.” She points through the wall to the bedroom. “But she is important to us both.”

“Your observation is not entirely accurate,” Athena tells her, “but you are correct to believe in her importance.”

“Then give her back your blessings.” 

Kate glares at her, standing firm and unintimidated, a level of hubris Athena normally does not tolerate, but Kate is as stubborn as Diana is mindful. Athena returns her gaze, cooly. 

“The amazon named you well. You are, indeed, unrelenting.” 

“Yeah, and I'm not giving up on this. Make her whole again.” 

“But you forget who I am and I trust you to remember from now on.” Athena's eyes gleam now, almost threateningly. “I cannot do as you demand, Kate embraced by dawn, and you will never make a demand of me again.” 

“Cannot or will not?” Kate asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, and her hand balls into a tight fists. 

The small illusion of a smile on Athena's face is gone now and all that's left is the same neutral expression that drives Kate insane. 

“It is Diana's trial to revoke, not yours, and she has not yet asked this of me.”

All of the anger in Kate is bubbling inside her chest, making her shoulders tremble and her fists quiver. She spins and slams her fist in the fridge, denting the door and knocking off magnets that scatter along the floor. Her fist rams the fridge door two more times before she stops and presses her forehead against it. For the first time during all of this, Kate, herself, cries. She rips the tears from her eyes, frustrated, the wound inside her exposed and acknowledged now. She doesn't know how to heal it. She doesn't know how to heal Diana. She doesn't know what use she is at all.

“I can't do it,” she says, quietly against the metal door. “Her face when the Perfect disappeared... I can't. I don't want to watch this happen to her. I don't want to see her like this.”

The air in the kitchen almost softens with Athena's mood and when she speaks again there is a touch of sympathy in her voice, but not enough to matter to Kate.

“Then what will you do instead?” she asks Kate. “If not be by her side and watch?”

Kate turns around, slumping back against the dented door, and hangs her head. “You're taking her apart bit by bit.” 

“And will you not help her reassemble herself bit by bit?”

Kate lowers her head. They both already know the answer to that even if she refuses to say it. Christ, she hates her. 

“I leave you with a gift. Knowledge to aid you,” Athena says and her voice is starting to drift away. “The one you question, he has heard rumor the Wonder Woman can be hurt now, and he is as unrelenting as you in his desire to find the truth of it. He has plans for her.” 

Kate's head snaps up to look at her, but Athena is already gone. 

-

In the weeks that follow, Diana is a husk that no longer carries a precious seed. Every day that passes, she feels further and further away. Kate watches her now as she sits at the kitchen window, staring through the fire escape to the dingy alley that holds only concrete and garbage. Diana holds a mug of tea she hasn't touched but has already gone cold in her hands and taps Oscar's sombrero.

She has stopped going to the clinics and no longer answers calls. Texts from Donna remain unanswered on her phone. The light in her eyes is faint. The first week, she didn't leave the apartment, barely said any words, and when she did speak, it was only to answer with a yes or a no. Kate hates seeing her like this, devoid of the life she once had, the love she once harbored for everything and everyone, including herself. Her purpose is gone, her sense of self torn from her. Kate knows what that feels like.

She sits behind her and wraps a loose arm around her shoulders. 

“I know it feels like everything you knew you were meant to do has been ripped away,” she says into her back. “I know you're thinking that if you can't be Wonder Woman, who else can you be? If you can't serve like this, how else can you? I know that's how it feels, Diana.”

Diana doesn't move but Kate can feel in the way her shoulders jerk that her thoughts have formed a tight ball in her chest that refuses to let her breath. 

“Like your life and your goals and your view of yourself and how you should be no longer make any sense, no longer fit like they used to. Like you only have pieces left, scraps of a life. All you have left of you are crumbs.”

When Diana's shoulders quiver harder, Kate holds her tighter through the terrible trembles and keeps her firm against her when she doubles over once more.

“I know how much that hurts and I wish I could tell you it stops hurting after a while,” she says, her voice so soft. “And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but it will always hurt. Just one day, it won't be so sharp. It'll dull enough you'll forget its even there and I hope, I hope so much, you're never reminded it is.” 

The only sound in the apartment is the light patter of rain against the window and Diana's awful sobs. 

Every time she cries, Kate hopes Athena is watching. She hopes that seeing her like this, hearing her like this, makes her feel whatever the god-like equivalent of shame is.

 

Continued...


	9. What Fuels the Love

**Gotham**  
It takes a month, but Kate can see her beginning to try. She struggles to maintain interest and her attention span for the few things that do interest her evaporates quickly. She has opinions on dinner sometimes now even if it's still a struggle to make her eat more than one bite. Sometimes she leaves the apartment for solitary walks. She has not returned to the clinics and music no longer plays in the apartment, but Kate will take these little steps. Diana moves Oscar from room to room with her, almost like he is her silent confidant who will defend her secrets with his spiny needles.  
It's still very touch and go, two steps forward and sometimes three steps back. Despite the slow progress, Diana still has nothing to say, no feelings to share, and asks for no comfort. It makes Kate feel helpless, a useless concern she knows. As long as Diana is improving, what does it matter if she needs her or not? Kate hates the selfish part of her that wants to be part of the healing.  
One day, Kate doesn't know why, Diana has a set back and sits once more silently at the window sill barely responding with Oscar beside her. Kate hates this. She can't stand this. She stands at a loss in the middle of the living room watching her, unsure what to do, and lowers her gaze, cursing. Her eyes fall on one of the books Diana had been reading before all of this, a nonfiction piece about imperialism and the effect of colonialism in post World War II North Africa.  
She picks it up, takes a seat on the couch and flips through it to the bookmarked page, finds the first complete paragraph and starts reading aloud. At first it was just to make fun of Diana's riveting choice in reading material, but it makes Diana turn away from the window to look at her. Kate continues. It's the first time in a few days Diana moves across the apartment with purpose. She sits on the couch beside her and Kate has to stop reading to adjust her legs when she lays her head in her lap.  
“Please don't stop.”

So Kate keeps reading. 

She reads to her every day now for at least an hour, sometimes more. It depends on the book and whether or not Diana falls asleep against her, fingers lightly holding on to Kate's shirt. 

Then one morning, when Kate is turning a page, Diana says, “Aphrodite told me we still shine to her.” 

Kate moves the book aside to look down at her on her lap. She is staring forward. Fingers tracing the seam of Kate's jeans absentmindedly, but she looks like she's in thought. 

“Oh yeah?” Kate asks, finger combing her dark strands. “So we're sparkly and glittery to her? Or do we shimmer and shine?”

She watches as Diana's eyes close and she nestles a little closer. She's not quite content, but it is the closest she's seen her be to that in a long time. It makes the corners of her lips curve in a small smile. 

“It means she still sees love,” Diana tells her in a hushed voice. 

“Well, good, or that would be a real awkward conversation we'd have to have.” Kate clears her throat and finds her spot again in the book. “Do you want to hear about Tunisia today or not?”

She hears a soft chuckle and it makes her heart flutter. It's soft and without energy, but it is unmistakably a chuckle. Diana's amused, however small and weak it might be. How long it's been since Kate has heard her laugh. She doesn't realize how much she's missed the sound of it until now. 

“Thank you for loving me, Kate.” 

Kate sets the book down on the cushion beside her and leans over to kiss her temple. 

“Always, bat charmer.”

-

**Below**

The gods lied. It's the only explanation Clete can come up with. There must not be a thing as pair bonding for real, no real connection between souls, no saved spots in the Fields. Maybe she will never see Euryleia again. She thinks about this day in and day out until it sparks into near obsession, until she convinces herself it was all a lie, the promised place beside her heart, the promised connection between her and her chosen. The gods are liars. All of them. They don't care at all what happens to them. They don't care at all about the hearts of mortals. 

Why did she ever think it was honorable to die for them? Why did she ever think it was her responsibility to, not Derinoe's? Derinoe was not bonded, had no one she called her heart, had no one she cared for like that. Clete hates how foolishly she lived and died protecting that girl. 

It is when she is in the midst of feeling the anger inside her at these obsessive thoughts that the harpy crashes down on a rock before her, cackling to itself as it peers at her through stringy white hair, grinning through its crooked teeth. The molten wings are leathery beneath the one patch of sickly yellow feathers that still cling stubbornly. 

“An amazon, is it?” the harpy says with a rusty tongue. “Oh, it is, it is, an amazon indeed.”

Clete watches the harpy with narrowed eyes. Yes, she is an amazon and she is not afraid of harpies. The harpy keeps a respectable distance, crawling further back in the shadows when Clete feigns a charge.

“You cannot have the flame, creature.”

“Flame? Oh, the flame! The flame,” the harpy says, slinking a little further away. “No, not I. Not that. Not I.”

“Then what is it you want from me?” Clete asks in a voice as cold as the caverns that surround them. 

The harpy retreats to a respectable distance, watching her carefully with golden eyes. Its silhouette almost disappears in the shadows and Clete understands that it poses no threat, doesn't want to frighten Clete away. It steps a little too close to the light of tartarus flames and Clete can see the blackened wounds along its spine. Wounds do not heal in the underworld. All they do is fester and bleed.

“You have a love, you do. You hate the ones who wrong you,” it says on a voice cracking and crumbling from disuse and rusty language nearly forgotten. “The ones who separated your love and you.” 

“What do you know of it?” Clete asks quickly losing disinterest. She is not one to want company in times of hurt or anger.

“I too. Me too. I know it too. My love and me apart,” the harpy says, surprisingly understandingly. “You love, I love. You hate, I hate. The same we are, the same.”

Clete softens now. She sits back on the cold stone she'd claimed years ago and leans on her knees, running a palm along the back of her neck. A harpy, huh? She never thought she would get sympathy from a harpy. How far she's fallen, she thinks, then glances up at the ceiling too dark to even see where it ends. Clete lets herself laugh derisively and amends her thought. Literally fallen. 

The harpy still watches her silently, golden eyes trained, observing. Clete sighs.

“All right. Okay,” she says. “I'm Clete. Who are you?” 

She receives no answer to her question. Instead, the harpy's eyes glow brighter, excited and it creeps a little closer. 

“Clete. Clete Clete. Amazon Clete.” It tries her name out almost delighted. “Clete's love is who? Who loves the Clete?” 

Clete tries to smile despite the pang in her chest and says, “Her name is Euryleia.”

It feels nice, Clete has to admit, to talk about Euryleia, to put the memories in her heart into words for an audience, even if the audience is a creature that evades every question she asks about it. Every day when Clete comes to sit on her rock to try to feel her heart, the harpy comes to listen. Days pass like this and soon she becomes used to the company, sometimes looks forward to it. The amazon and the harpy, an interesting pair they make. 

-

**Above**

Kate drove until they are out of the city limits, until the suburbs gave way to small towns and then country side, following the coast. Over a breakfast she barely touched, Diana had asked to leave, to go somewhere free of concrete and glass, somewhere with air she can breathe. So Kate took her away. It seemed with every mile they put between them and Gotham, Diana recovered just a little bit more. She even made a music selection even though Kate had to veto it five-seconds in. I'm driving, she'd said. For our safety, Diana, no.

The beach is empty, but it doesn't stop them from walking the length of it barefoot in zipped jackets, huddling for a little warmth.The waves are loud, cresting high and then collapsing back in on itself, before reaching far out onto the shore. Kate watches Diana tentatively step into the wet sand and she calls her name. She turns to look at her and the cold waves rush around her ankles unexpectedly. The way she jumps makes Kate laugh. It's the dumbest most adorable thing Kate has seen her do in such a long time and it's the first real smile she's seen on her face. Diana glowers at her. 

“That was mean, Kate Kane.”

“I was just going to tell you to be careful. Water is damn cold, you know.” Kate grins “I was trying to help. I swear.” 

Diana makes a face and draws her jacket closer, but doesn't move when the next wave of cold rushes around her. She shivers but refuses the hand Kate holds out to her. 

“So you'd rather stand there and shiver instead of accept my hand?” 

The look Kate gets from her makes her laugh and she steps in the wet sand to retrieve her when the water rushes away, taking hold of her hand. The gold metal beneath her fingertips makes them colder with the chill wind. Diana yanks her further out just as the water rushes back and the wave splashes against their calves and soaks their thighs, shocking them both.

“Congratulations, now we're both miserable,” Kate says trying to rush out of the way when the waves return and splash frigid on her feet again. “Happy now, princess?”

Diana smiles, still gripping her hand. Overhead seagulls call and take her attention away and the salty wind rushes through the long grass lining the parking lot. Kate watches her as she admires their white forms sailing on cold currents, her expression soft, relaxed. Kate steps close and hugs her, noting how light she feels in her arms. She understands now what Diana needs. She needs fresh air and the sounds of nature. She needs rushing water and green grass, sunshine that doesn't struggle in smog, and trees that tower over her. 

Gotham is suffocating her, smothering her out like a used cigarette in its cement bleakness. Kate holds her close, a hand at the small of her back, feeling comforted by the realization. At least she knows now. At least she knows what she can do for her now. 

The cold travels up her spine now and makes her shiver. She hunches over and in one motion, unzips Diana's jacket and tries to worm her way inside. Diana jumps at the sudden cold wind that rushes through the unfastened ends and she pulls away, yanking her zipper back up.

“You have your own jacket,” she says, turning her back on her. 

“But it's in the car and I'm dying,” Kate says, reaching back toward her. Diana grabs her wrists. “It's so cold, I'm dying. I'm freezing. I'll be dead in two minutes.”

“You're not dying, Kate.”

“Two minutes, Diana!”

“I said no.”

-

She's retrieving ice from the machine in the hallway outside their hotel room when her phone rings. Balancing the empty ice bucket on her left hip, she answers it quickly and holds the phone between her shoulder and her ear before opening the door to the machine. 

“I've been trying to reach you all day, Kate,” Barbara says on the other side. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Been in the car all day,” she replies, bending to grab the silver scoop to stab the mound of ice. 

“I heard about Diana. How is she doing?”

“A little better now, thanks.” She lets the line go quiet while she fills the bucket. “Did you find anything about Catherine?”

“Yeah, you were right to be concerned. I mean, her financials alone. Hold on, let me bring it up.” 

Kate can hear the soft tack of typing keys. She tosses the scoop back in the ice chest and lets the black plastic doors slam shut while she waits, coming to the railing that over looks the middle courtyard. The hotel has a large sitting area where the continental breakfast is served in the mornings and a large water fixture with a ten foot waterfall stands to the side directly below her. 

“In the last few months alone, she's made four wire transfers for a few million dollars,” Barbara says. 

“To where?” 

“To a QCBT Enterprises, and yes, I looked it up. It does exist. Sort of. It's the name of the company Oswald's been using on his property deals lately. He's been funneling a lot of money into a new venue and it's got some weird theme if you ask me.”

“Why d'you say that?”

Kate sets the ice bucket down and crosses her arms, taking note of all the people she can see from her vantage point. One thing being a Bat takes good advantage of is her hyper awareness, her constant need to know who is around her, what they are doing, and where all the points of entry are.

“He's commissioned multiple vault doors, the kind used in Fort Knox, electromagnetic generators enough to power half the continental United States, and hired fallout shelter builders who cater to doomsday fanatics,” Barbara says. “And the rest of the list reads like Black Gate penitentiary if it were run by Christian Gray.” 

“Of course you would know who that is.” Kate smirks when she hears the offense and then quickly returns to topic. “So, he's building something that can withstand the apocalypse but secure enough and powered enough to hold in a Superman in a gimp suit.”

“Not an image I needed, Kate. Thanks.”

“Happy to serve. Thanks a lot for this, Babs. I should be getting back.” 

“Hey, wait,” Barbara says. “Tell Diana ...tell her if she needs to talk to someone who understands, I'm always available.” 

The words stop Kate in her tracks and she nods. Right. Barbara went through something similar. It makes her glower. Stay in the mask and cape business long enough and everyone does, it seems.

She says, “I will, Barbara. Thank you.” 

When she hangs up, Kate grips her phone so tight in her hand, it almost feels like the screen will shatter. She doesn't know what Penguin is building with Catherine's money, but coupled with the fact that Athena told her he has plans for Diana it makes her insides boil. It's Penguin, a man who has pit meta humans against each other for sport, who looks at every woman with the same lecherous eyes, and right now his eyes are on Diana. They can't stay in Gotham, not in a place that sucks Diana dry and certainly not in a place the Penguin can find her. They're going to have to disappear.

-

**Below**

Clete had dreams of Euryleia, dreamt of their bonding ceremony, how intimate and quiet it was, just the two of them. She dreamt of the first moment she could feel their souls tied, how full her heart felt, how surprised she was to find that despite the distance between them, she could still feel her. When she awoke, she cried. Clete hates crying, refuses to do it. She finds tears useless and weeping a waste of time. If you have the time for sorrow, you have the time to act, she always used to say. But today, after those dreams, Clete sits on her rock and feels so alone. 

The harpy lands beside her, wobbles unsteadily on its aching bones, and cranes its head to look at her. 

“Oh, it hurts, it does. It hurts today,” it says, almost sorrowfully. “Pain of separation, conniving, keep your heart apart.”

With a gruff voice, Clete wipes her tears roughly and says, “Derinoe isn't smart enough to connive.”

“But she lives. Euryleia lives and Clete, oh Clete, is here.” The harpy blinks at her. 

“She should be here. Derinoe.” Clete can't help but narrow her eyes. The very thought of Derinoe always brings up such anger in her. “Not me.”

She doesn't see the crooked smile curl on the harpy's face, hidden behind the sickly leathery wing. 

“My love yet lives, like yours, and I, poor me, poor I. Killed by a jealous suitor,” it says, notes the interest in Clete at the first time it mentions anything about itself, “killed and thrown in here. This here, this place. Not my afterlife. Not for a valkyrie.” 

“A valkyrie?” Clete pauses and studies the harpy carefully now. 

“Yes, a valkyrie, me, a valkyrie. I had a name, a beautiful name. I was Gudra, but Gudra no more.” The harpy indicates its current condition and looks away ashamed. “Gudra no more...”

Gudra. Clete remembers the name. She was the valkyrie killed by their queen centuries ago. Clete examines the creature before her for any sign of the valkyrie who remains beautiful in her memory. The tattered shreds of clothing, once white with gold trimmings, the mass of white on its head, once blonde flowing locks… the wings, malformed bones that stretched skin painfully from the back, once feathered white. The claim is confusing, but plausible.

“What happened to you, Gudra?” Clete asks her. “How did you become like this?”

Gudra's eyes almost glow in the dark and she says, “Your queen, amazon. Your wretched queen, ran me through, ran Gudra through with her blade and threw me down here. No light of Odin for Gudra, no light to sustain me.”

“You challenged the queen and lost,” Clete says, almost concerned. “It's what challengers deserve.” 

Gudra hisses now and it makes Clete back away.

“Deserve?! Deserve this?! To waste away in the dark with no light, no love?! All I did was love,” she says, slinking back on her haunches back to the shadow. Her voice is quiet now. “All I did was love. You understand, Clete amazon? Yes? Understand me, Gudra, my plight. Before the queen, your wretched queen, all I did was love. Just her, just one, the one I trained ...was that so wrong? Was that so wrong?”

Clete thinks of her Euryleia and sighs. 

“No, Gudra, I don't think that's wrong.”

Gudra hisses once more and claws at the air as if tormented by the stings of a thousand bees. “She killed me, your precious queen. She killed me before I could sing my love, and she sang to her instead. Her blade in my gut, she sang to her instead. Your queen, your queen, your wretched queen, she sang to her instead.”

Gudra draws into herself, wraps her naked wings around herself, and a few more pale feathers detach and fall. She says, “I just want my chance to sing.”

Clete is angry for her, angry for herself. Her fist comes down hard against rock. She's angry at the thought of a stolen love, that Gudra holds on to it even now, even as this unsightly, misshapen creature with features so hideous. She is angry that one so tormented could still love so much. She does not see the crooked smile that forms on Gudra's sunken face. 

“I too wish to sing my love,” Clete says and then lifts her eyes to the impossible ceiling above, “but we are trapped here. We cannot get out.” 

“But if we can?” Gudra asks, her voice silken in the dark now. “If we can, Clete amazon, together we can. I can fly. You can cross. You carry the flame, but you aren't dead. Half-dead, only half.” 

The flame inside her chest reacts and burns warm. Clete feels the tickle of its flames reaching through her, to the tips of her fingers, and clutches at her chest. Clete looks back up at the ceiling she can never reach from where she fell. She must have fallen from there. She must have. She only remembers falling and she's stopped trying to make sense of that and the spiral staircase in her memory. All she thinks of right now is Euryleia. She would give anything to see Euryleia again, even this flame Persephone said protected her. Clete does not want protection. She wants to see her heart again. 

“Give it to Gudra, amazon. The flame inside. Give it to me and Gudra will be half too. I will fly you up there, up there to Euryleia.”

With fingers almost digging through her skin, Clete tugs on the flame inside her. It feels like pulling out her own heart while it still beats and holds on dearly to its cavernous home inside her, but Clete has been through worse pain and yanks it free. With Hestia's fire in her hands, she holds it out for Gudra the harpy to see. Gudra creeps close, shielding her eyes and hissing as the light burns her skin. When she's close enough, Clete shoves the flame inside her chest and a shockwave of light knocks her down, nearly blinding her. Gudra screams.

When the light fades and her sight returns, Clete stares up at Gudra restored, staring down at her, as beautiful as Clete remembers her being before Hippolyta struck her down. Her wings are pristine white and almost shine in the inky dark. The stringy white hair has thickened into silken blonde locks that fall over sky blue eyes. Gudra the valkyrie is beautiful once again. She leans over, smiling. Clete gazes up at her astounded.

“Thank you, Clete,” she says and her voice is no longer cracked, no longer trapped in the maddening tongue of harpy. She extends her hand, skin almost glowing in the dark dank. “Let us go find our loves.”

Clete doesn't hesitate. She takes Gudra's hand. Euryleia, I'm coming home. 

-

**Above**

Diana is sitting on the edge of the queen sized bed when Kate returns. The sound of the door unlocking pulls her attention from the seven day forecast and she notices how quiet Kate looks. She watches as she makes her way toward her as the door closes by itself behind her and turns the tv off. Then Kate sets the ice bucket on the table beside the bed and takes a seat beside her and gives her a small, charmed smile as she tucks dark hair behind her ear. 

“Your nose is still red,” she says with a small chuckle. It earns her a small frown. She takes her hands in hers and sighs. “I think you should go home, Diana.” 

“Kate,” she starts, but Kate shakes her head and Diana has to force herself to stop, to consciously listen, something that has never felt like a chore before now. 

“No, really,” Kate says. “You need Themyscira right now. You need to be with your sisters and your mother, far away from Gotham smog and concrete, so you can heal.” 

She isn't wrong, which is probably the worst part for Diana. She has been longing for home, for its air and its sea breeze, for its waterfalls and deep pools, and the sun that rejuvenates and makes her feel whole. She yearns to feel connected again, not just to the soil of Themyscira, but to anything, to anyone, especially to Kate, because this empty void inside is swallowing her whole. 

“Then will you come with me?” Diana asks her. “Stay with me there?”

“Of course I can, for as long as I'm able.” 

Diana squeezes her hand and says, “No, Kate, until I am me again. I need you to stay for as long as that takes.” 

“Am I allowed to?” She thinks for a moment. Stupid question. Start over. “I don't want to discourage you, Diana, but that could take a long time, years maybe. Can someone who's not amazon stay that long?” 

Diana looks down at their hands and then intertwines the fingers of their left hands that bear their guards.

“This guard makes you an amazon,” she says, “but even if it didn't, the queen is my mother. I'm sure it will be fine.” 

She can see how the small joke makes Kate's eyes light with hope and she wonders how long Kate has been looking at her like this, helpless like this, and eager to be seen again. It makes Diana feel regretful. How could she not have noticed?

“Themysciran passport, huh?” Kate grins, but the grin doesn't touch her eyes. “I owe Raedne a punch to the nose, anyway. She almost broke mine.”

Diana doesn't laugh and her smile fades as she leans forward and rests their foreheads together. She takes in a breath, kneading the back of Kate's hand with her thumb. Something is off, but she can't quite place it, can't quite trust the thought. Diana has always had good intuition, but had also always had the Perfect to verify.

“It's difficult without the Perfect. I don't know if I am reading it correctly or if I am completely wrong,” she says, quietly, “but I feel something might be bothering you.” 

“Your instincts are still good, Diana. Give yourself credit for that at least.” Kate kisses her softly. “Penguin has eyes on you. Athena told me.” 

“And this is why you want me to leave Gotham.”

“It's not the only reason. I think Gotham's bad for you. I think it has been even before. I just didn't see it. Maybe I didn't want to. Maybe I wanted you with me so much, I refused to.” 

Diana can see it now, what fuels the love she feels from Kate right now, an underlying sense of responsibility she morphs into guilt. Kate blames herself for something she had no control over and it makes Diana feel ashamed. She couldn't appreciate her as much as she should have during all of this. She couldn't see this guilt building inside her, couldn't ease it. She slides her hands up her arms to her shoulders, one moving to her neck.

“Gotham is your home,” she says softly, studying her face. “It's Oscar's home.”

Kate can't hide the hurt when she smiles at that and she says, “But it shouldn't be yours.”

“Let me decide that, Kate,” Diana tells her, palming her cheek and guiding Kate's lips to hers. 

There is a familiar, heated need in the kiss, one she hasn't felt since before she lost the Perfect. Kate welcomes her kiss as if she were starved for it, so grateful for the attention, Diana can feel it almost radiate from her. Kate looks at her with eyes that want, with flattering greed, almost the same need as their first night together and it reminds Diana of why she fell in love with her in the first place. 

How could she have taken her for granted? This woman who still loves her even though she feels there is nothing left of her worth loving?

Is this what people say she used to do for them? Love them anyway when they didn't feel they deserved it? The thought of it makes her respond to Kate's want with her own, needing more of the way she looks at her, the way she sees her, to reflect back to Kate the person she loves, until Diana remembers how to be her again.

The kiss is like fire, hot but so wonderful, and she moves forward onto Kate's lap as she undoes the buttons of her own shirt and pulls it from her shoulders. She'd thought there was nothing left of her, but she was wrong. There is still love. Everything will be all right. Everything will be fine. She will be fine. As long as she has this love, as long as she has Kate, she will find herself again.

“Diana.” 

Kate says her name like its almost too precious to be spoken. Diana wants to feel close to her again, like she did on the nights they hissed at antiseptic and cotton balls and kissed with split lips. She coaxes her shirt up and over her head, discarding it somewhere. 

“You've taken care of me for so long now,” she tells her, lightly pushing her shoulders until they are flat against the bed. “Let me take care of you now.” 

Kate melts beneath her kiss. Her hair has grown just passed her shoulders now, the longest Diana has ever seen her with, and the ends curl along the bedspread. Kate will cut it soon, she knows, but for now, Diana delights in the way she almost shivers when she brushes it from her neck and lays a series of kisses just below her jaw. Kate scoots backwards on the bed and with a hand flat against Diana's back, pulls her along with her. 

There is a way Kate moves that she finds so beautiful, a feminine self-assuredness, unquestionably certain in her wants and needs, and direct in how she communicates them. When Diana slides her jeans off, she lifts her hips to let her, but is quick to pull her back up for another kiss. _Stay up here with me for now._ She bends her knees and lifts her shoulders off the mattress when Diana's fingers spend too long teasing. _Harder. Now._ When Diana finds the right spot, gives her the right speed, whispers in her ear the right words, Kate pushes herself up onto her knees, forcing her to follow. Her hand moves faster to match her shallow breathing, holding her up as she clings to her for support, head bowed, eyes closed, gripping so tight her fingers dig into skin.

“Don't stop,” Kate tells her. “Don't stop.”

Diana doesn't, not even when Kate's knees shake and she slumps against her. She doesn't stop even when she hears her gasp and cry, feels her shudder. She continues, moving with her when she rolls her hips, until she hunches over, breathing so hard, completely spent. 

“Diana, I love you,” she says, coming down hard. She can't stay upright and she pulls her down with her. Diana gathers her in her arms. 

“Say it again, Kate.” 

“I love you.”

-

**Themyscira**

The knocking has turned into pounding, loud and demanding. Day and night it sounds from the door behind her and Derinoe swears there is something desperate to get out, something or someone who shouldn't be inside. Anaea promises her there is nothing there, no knocking, no pounding, nothing on the other side of the door, but that can't possibly be true. Derinoe hears them. She hears their cry for help, a soul trapped on the other side. Maybe she should just peek? Maybe she should just make sure, put her mind at ease. Whenever that thought pops in her head, it takes a conscious decision to stop herself. 

“Sister, control yourself,” Anaea tells her with a voice severe and commanding. “Someone has loosed the Saffron Lady on you. Melinoe calls your name. Speak the hymn, Derinoe.”

Derinoe nods, tries to force the pounding from her head long enough to focus, to remember the words that can save her. _I call upon Melinoe, saffron-cloaked nymph of the earth…_ She can't think. It's like the pounding is in her head now, drowning out the words. Anaea comes to her side and grasps her firm by the shoulder, shouting her name. Anaea speaks the hymn with her, slow and sure, brings her back with a shake when her voice trails off.

_...now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness—_

Across the room, from the shadows on the rough rock wall, Derinoe sees her eyes first, and then she cannot hear Anaea anymore, cannot see her, cannot even feel her. Melinoe steps out of the flat shadows, full-formed, in a cloak the color of the sun. She spies Derinoe with feverish intent and walks with confidence toward her, lifting a hand to touch her forehead.

And then she is gone and the pounding has ceased. The room and her head is painfully quiet and the silence murders her ears. Derinoe gasps and checks the room for the Saffron Lady. Frantically, she looks from one shadow to another, searching for eyes and sun-colored fabric until Anaea gives her a firm shake.

“Derinoe! Calm yourself. There is nothing here.” 

Nothing here ...there's nothing here. Derinoe breathes in and finally relaxes. The Saffron Lady is gone. Maybe she finished the hymn in time. She wants to laugh at her good fortune. Gods, her gaze was terrifying. Then comes three slow, solitary knocks, and this time, by the way Anaea's eyes widen, Derinoe knows she hears it too. They both turn to look at the door. The voice is muffled through the thick stone, but Derinoe would recognize it anywhere. 

“Let me out.”

“Clete.” She pulls from her grasp, but Anaea grips her tight, shouting at her.

“You are deceived, Derinoe. That can't be Clete. She would have perished long ago!” 

“Derinoe, sister, let me out. I need to see my Euryleia.”

There are tears in Derinoe's eyes and Euryleia flashes in her mind, her face twisted in anger fueled by a bitter heartbreak. Clete is alive, Euryleia. I can give you back your Clete. She moves for the door again, but Anaea holds her back. It is as if her hand strikes true with Athena's guidance and the speed and swiftness of Hermes. Her spear comes so fast and pierces her through the soft tissue of her midsection. 

Derinoe doesn't feel the warm blood on her hand or hear the cry of her impaled sister. All she hears is Clete, begging, promising Derinoe forgiveness. Anaea pulls herself to her knees, wincing, gripping the end of the spear. She lets out a cry when she begins to push the spear the rest of the way through. She's only half way through when she sees Derinoe open the door and what comes through from the other side is horrifying.

 

Continued…


	10. The Damage You've done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate makes a decision that will have lasting consequences.

Over looking the Gotham riverfront is the Antiquity Quarter, one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city that's been converted into the center of its bohemian culture. It's populated mostly by creative types dedicated to their work and university students attending one of the local universities. Along the riverfront, however, is a series of quaint locally owned restaurants and bistros. Diana has chosen one of these little places to meet with an old friend. Bruce Wayne would look more out of place, but the ever present judging scowl on his face helps him blend in with the discerning thoughtful artists that dot the other tables. 

“There's no need to run,” he says, squaring his jaw. “I've already got eyes on Oswald if that's what you're concerned about. I can't imagine you being afraid of him anyway, Diana.” 

“I'm not, but I long for home,” she says. “I can't feel Gaea here, especially as I am now.”

The ice cubes in their water glasses tinkle lightly as they melt beneath the warm sun, despite the chill breeze that floats by. He notices when her shoulders give a small shiver and his eyebrow gives a small tell-tale twitch. Unlike Donna's, Diana notices this one. She has become accustomed enough to her new reality that she's forgotten no one but Kate has seen her shiver. Bruce sips his water.

“A red bird says you've adjusted well to your new circumstances,” he says and it makes her lean back in the chair. 

“My circumstances have changed once again.” She offers a smile even she doesn't think is convincing and finds her next words some of the hardest she has had to say. “Donna wields the Golden Perfect. My role now passes to her.”

His expression grows firm. Calmly, he interlaces his fingers and with elbows on the glass tabletop, covers the grim line of his lips with them. 

“The Perfect is part of you. We established that in Jarhanpur.* It doesn't exist without you.”

Her eyes fall away from his and she says quietly, “That was a different case, Bruce. The Perfect can't exist when there are contradicting truths. This time, truth is not in question, I am. ”

Her words seem to affront him, even more so then when she told them of the cost of her trial, and part of her feels warmed her friend is so concerned for her. He's silent a moment and doesn't move, processing the information, categorizing it, and filing it away somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Sometimes, she wonders how Athena would like him. Aphrodite, she already knows, would hate him.

“So what happened, Diana?” he asks finally, spying her from over his still interlocked fingers. “I've heard it from Jason. Now, I want to hear it from you. What made you question yourself?” 

Diana turns her sight to the river and one of the bridges that connect Gotham to the rest of the state. Barges steam down river and small yachts and sail boats dot the river's surface. Even so, the water is murky and muddy, so unlike the endless darkening blue of the ocean she longs to see from Themyscira's shore. 

“I was unable to save two lives,” she says and what's left of her heart gives a painful beat at the memory. 

“That's never crushed you like this before. What's different about these two?” 

Bruce's words are evaluating her, poking at every weak opening he finds in her explanation. He has always been nearly as good at that as she is, but unlike her, he never knows nor really cares to leave alone the ones that shouldn't be prodded. 

“Nothing is different about them,” she replies, a little more curt than she intended. “I am the one who is different.”

“How?” he asks, matching his tone with hers. “Why? In what way exactly?” 

His eyes are stern, analytical. She may have been able to look into the truths of every soul once, but she never did it this invasive, never as a threat like this. She doesn't need the Perfect to see that his anger is for her, not at her, but he has never been one for tact in times like this.

“In every way that matters to me,” she tells him.

He still holds her in his sight and says, “So, you're just going to go off and hide because you're a little different? Abandon your mission and the world and take Kate with you? Just what are you thinking?”

Now it's her turn to watch him for a minute. Shame is not something she has ever felt before in front of him and she doesn't like how she can feel it creeping closer to her shadow now. 

“I am thinking that I am broken, that I hold pieces in my hands. I'm not sure what picture they make anymore and I am unable to put them together again,” she says, a little indignant at his cold reaction. “I'm thinking I see a glimpse of it, of half of who I need to be every time Kate looks at me, but I am desperate to see the other half as well, or I just might lose sight of it all.”

“We wouldn't let that happen, Diana,” he tells her. “Kate and I wouldn't let that happen.”

She tucks hair behind an ear and her eyes lower to her glass of water beginning to bead with condensation. 

“It scares me, Bruce. More than any villain, more than losing our friendship, or your respect, or my place in the League, I am afraid of who I may become.” Her eyes raise to his once more, daring the shame to slink back where it came and she says, “I need both Kate and Themyscira now or all of us, you, me, and Kate, we all lose me.” 

Diana rests her chin in her hand and brings her gaze back to the riverfront. In her peripheral vision, she can see how his concern is starting to morph into pity and she doesn't want to see it. She has never wanted for his sympathy for her problems. Theirs has always been a relationship of conjecture. Together, they plan and find solutions instead of commiserate. This is why she chooses to avert her eyes now, finding the white sails dotting the river more interesting than they actually are.

“Then it sounds like your mind's made up,” he says, finally, gently. “Go do what you need to. Take the time you need. We'll all still be here when you get back.” 

She smiles now. Their friendship has been strained and tested through many things, but it seems the one thing it doesn't know how to weather yet is Kate. In this time when all she knows is uncertainty, what she wishes for most from him is one conviction at least, to know that they will overcome her as well.

“Does it still bother you, Bruce?” she asks, watching his expression carefully. “Me and Kate?” 

“I was never bothered, Diana. I'm disappointed. You can do better than Kate. She's not worth the price you paid for her.”

The one new thing Diana has discovered that she dislikes the most is her diminished diplomacy and how much more personal she takes things now. His words hurt and she knows he meant them to. 

“I don't agree with you.” 

“I know you don't, but she would.”

She says nothing to this. There are no words inside her to deny a truth.

-

The clocktower is as cold as it always is and the incessant ticking measures out the seconds in infuriating precision. The advantage point is excellent but the mechanical sounds of the clock drives Batwoman crazy just the few minutes she's already been here. How does Batgirl even think in a place like this? Maybe genius demands conditions that will drive an ordinary mind insane. 

“It's bigger than we thought,” Batgirl says to Red Hood and Batwoman as she leads them further into the clocktower to her set up of monitors and wires.

Red Hood perches on the edge of a desk and calmly folds his arms across his chest. His leather jacket is worn and well-loved and there are at least two bullet holes dotting the edges. She remembers how long it took him to find this one so he'd better have purchased several. 

“So what are you saying, BeeGee?” he asks. “It involves both Black Mask and Penguin?” 

“And Hamilton Industries,” she replies, taking a seat at her keyboard. 

“Guess even Gotham's criminal elite get lonely sometimes.” 

“Everybody needs friends, bird boy,” Batwoman says, stepping passed him to round the desk to stand behind Batgirl. 

He clicks his tongue a few times. “Just don't invite them to your birthday party, Red.”

“Ha. My mother has the invitations. Tell that to her.”

“Okay, children. Focus.” Batgirl's fingers are a flurry across the keys and blueprints and weapons schematics flash on the monitors. “Three months ago, Hamilton lost three crates of a new prototype, LR-55S, they call them. Like hybrid assault rifles that can fire elemental rounds.”

“Wait,” Red Hood says, squinting at the screen. “Those are the weapons Mask's men have been using.” 

“The ones the Blacks and the Whites had in Robinson Park the night Diana lost the Perfect.” Batwoman nods. “What kind of elementals are we talking?” 

The screens switch to preliminary field notes, nothing more than chicken scratch, scanned from a tester's report. 

“Looks like they're testing just about everything,” Batgirls says and highlights a small list. “Incendiary, flash-freeze, shock, scatter...” 

“Everything and then some,” Batwoman says, suspiciously, leaning forward to read more of the notes. “'... _Combustible round, triggered upon contact, most effective. Flash-freeze, increased area of effect from Fifty-Four S, ten-second delayed reaction. Shock, low effect, unsatisfactory. Scatter, explodes and sends shrapnel within the target to a three inch radius_ …' Jesus Christ, these things fire 6.5 Creedmors? Special effect elemental _sniper_ rounds in a semi-automatic assault rifle? Talk about overkill. It's like starting a campfire with an atomic bomb.”

“Technically, the Creedmor was the last stage prototype and they deemed the cartridge too small for the flash-freeze and scatter rounds,” Batgirl tells her, turning in her chair to look at her. “And these are- They're different from regular special rounds, Batwoman. Like these flash-freeze ones? It's like being shot by Victor Fries' ray. The target freezes from the inside out. These incendiaries? Get hit with one of those and your bones are ash. This is meta human level weaponry. What exactly does Hamilton plan to do with these?”

“The same thing they do with everything else they create,” Batwoman says, still studying at the screens. “Make money.”

“Oh, man.” Red Hood places his hands on the edge of the desk and leans forward, marveling at the designs. “What does a guy have to do to get his hands on one of these?”

Both women level him with judging looks that he questions innocently with a shrug of his shoulders. Then Batwoman stands straight and crosses her arms, taking a few steps as she thinks aloud.

“So, Black Mask is running around with Hamilton prototypes designed to carry and fire cartridges bigger than my hands...”

“But they aren't using the special ammunition it was built for.” He finishes for her. 

She tosses out a hand. “So, what am I missing?” 

“Whatever ammunition already made is still sitting at Hamilton warehouse six. They've been on lock down since the crates went missing, and here's where it gets worse for you, Batwoman,” Batgirl says. “Because of that incident, Catherine Hamilton has changed every password, classified administrative code, and retina and hand scanner in the past three months. Want to guess who did the job for her?”

Red Hood makes a face as he reads the screen. “Coppergate Sec? Who the hell are they?”

“They don't exist, do they?” Batwoman asks with an air of dread. 

Batgirl pulls up a few bank accounts and says, “Coppergate Security Tech, Inc, owned by B&W Holdings, which is in turn under the umbrella of QCBT Enterprises.”

Batwoman curses. “Which we know is just a fake face for Cobblepot. So now he's got access to all of Hamilton's research and inventory. It's like his own personal armory any time he needs and he's supplying Black Mask with it. But what's the return? What does the Mask provide Cobblepot?”

“I don't know,” Red Hood says, “but I'm sure I can find out.” 

“Not alone, you aren't,” Batwoman tells him and he gives her a questionable look. 

“Aren't you forgetting something?” he asks her. “You're supposed to be scheduled for a long vacation.”

-

When she steps back into the apartment, Kate pulls off her cowl and steels herself, not sure how this conversation is going to go. She runs her hand through her hair, makes a note she needs to get it trimmed, and then walks down the hallway looking for Diana. She finds her in the bathtub, soaking in silence with her eyes closed. The expression on her face is pensive. Kate wouldn't put it passed Bruce to be insensitive. Diana opens her eyes when she enters and offers a smile that almost disarms her completely. She smiles back.

“How well did it go with Grumpy Bat?” Kate asks her, taking a seat on the toilet and bending to remove a boot. “He still butt hurt about us?”

Diana is quiet for a minute before she answers. “He said he would be awaiting our return.” 

“You mean, your return.” Kate smirks and removes the other boot, but her grin fades when she sees the troubled look on Diana's face. “I've known him since before I could walk. He's like the brother I never wanted. He'll be fine. Me and him'll be fine. You aren't the first girl we've fought over.”

At the look Diana gives her, Kate points a finger at her.

“Don't you dare deny it, bat charmer. If Selina wasn't already in his life, we'd be slinging abuse at each other over you.”

“Thank the gods for Selina Kyle then.” Diana gives her an appreciative smile and says, “What about your meeting? Was it good news?”

Kate shrugs. “Well, it was news anyway.” 

Diana sits up straighter in the water and leans forward, reaching over the edge of the tub and placing a hand on Kate's arm to still her for a moment. She catches Kate's eye and looks at her concerned, a glimmer of her old self flashing in her eyes and it makes Kate nostalgic.

“What's happened?” 

Kate sighs and removes her other boot before leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and hanging her head. She knows how this is going to sound and she doesn't know how to say it tactfully, so she just says it.

“I can't go with you to Themyscira.”

“What do you mean?” 

“It's Penguin,” she says as she stands and unzips knowing that Diana is waiting for her to continue. She takes her time removing the black suit and then sits back down on the toilet with Batwoman wrinkled on the floor by her feet. “He's conned his way into Hamilton Industries and Catherine has no idea. These prototypes? They're bad news. Three crates, seventy-five total rifles, are missing and I need to track them down.”

“Then I will help.”

Kate almost winces, because this is the part she knows the conversation is going to start south and there's no avoiding it now. 

“I can't let you do that, Diana.”

“You don't 'let' me do anything, Kate.” 

There is a hint of offense in Diana's voice at this, something that's been seeping into her tone more frequently lately. Most of the time, Kate kind of likes it, but this time, she wishes she could appeal to the rational, understanding Diana of the past, the Diana who could see her side and consider it objectively without reacting emotionally first.

“I know. I'm sorry,” Kate says and then dips a foot in the tub and eases into the hot water opposite her. “What happened in Robinson Park is going to keep happening the minute Oswald tracks you down.” 

“And we will fight him again, just like last time.” Diana reaches over and touches her shoulders. “Turn around. I'll wash your hair.” 

Part of Kate is thankful Diana can't see the troubled look she knows she's giving when she turns her back to her. She brings her knees up and above the surface of the water and tilts her head back when she feels the water run through it and Diana's firm but gentle fingers along her scalp. 

“Last time didn't turn out so well for us,” Kate says trying to choose her words carefully. It's something she's never had to do around Diana before and she's not sure she's a fan of it. “I don't know what Penguin's building or what he's planning, but it's nothing good and somehow, you're a part of it. That just-. That more than rubs me the wrong way. It pisses me off, Diana. He knows your situation.”

“Everyone knows my situation now,” Diana says spreading shampoo on her hands. “What makes Oswald so special?”

“Athena made it a point to warn me about him and you are pretty much the only thing she and I agree on. We need to be careful about anything that can manage to concern her.”

Diana is quiet as she massages the lather in her hair and Kate savors the touch and the silence. She doesn't want to continue the talk just yet. She just wants to enjoy a hot bath with her girlfriend for a few minutes and leave the worry on the floor with the rest of Batwoman. Diana has begun rinsing when she speaks again.

“Athena speaks to you, but not to me,” she say softly at first and then her voice finds its backbone. “I don't like my heart and my patron making plans for me.”

“We aren't making plans for you,” Kate starts, but hushes when she feels how tense Diana's hands are when she smoothes the conditioner through her hair. “We discussed you.”

“She tells you of Oswald's plans for me, you tell me of your plans for me.” Her voice grows a little harder with each word. “And no one thinks to consult me.”

“Diana.” 

“Kate. I can't be parted right now. I need you right now. I need-.”

Kate looks over her shoulder at her but Diana is silent, averts her eyes in thought, as if sorting through feeling to find words. She has never spent so long doing this before. She has always been articulate to a fault, has always known what to say, what she is feeling. It's almost alarming to see her struggle through the resentment. Kate says her name and starts to turn, but Diana stands from the water and steps out of the tub, grabbing her towel. 

“I'm sorry. I need a moment,” she says, drying quickly and bending to wrap her hair. She walks out of the bathroom. 

Kate curses, dunks quickly to rinse the conditioner and then chases after her, dripping water on the floor as she haphazardly towels off. Diana has paused by the dresser, leaning on a partially opened drawer, with her head lowered.

“I am just starting to remember who I was, how to be her again. I'm afraid-,” she says, but stops short and Kate misses the fragile quality of her voice. “I'm scared, Kate. I'm afraid I can't find her without you.”

“Of course, you can. You don't need me to tell you who you are,” Kate says stepping behind her to place a hand on her shoulder. “You've never needed me for that, because you never stopped being her.” 

“And you are qualified to tell me my needs?” The way Diana says this is tense and firm, but quietly angry. Regret immediately shows on her face and she shuts her eyes, taking in a breath, her frustration with herself clearly evident. “I don't mean to lose my temper.” 

Kate sighs. She doesn't know how to convince her, doesn't know what she can say to get through to her. 

“You're not the only one who's afraid, Diana,” she says. “You can't stay here. Gotham is killing you. Maybe Cobblepot wants to kill you. You need Themyscira. I know that at least. You have to leave.” 

“Not without you.”

Diana pulls a shirt from the drawer and slams it shut and tosses her towel in the pile of laundry. She pulls on the shirt and looks over her shoulder at her with a cold quality to her eyes that is alarming. It's unlike her, so very human, too human. She has never seen Diana use this chill look on anyone but an enemy before. Has she changed this much without Kate realizing it? 

“She's my mother, Diana,” she says, dumping her towel and hastily pulling on clothing as she follows her from the room. “Her livelihood is about to be destroyed. I can't leave now.” 

“Then we will both stay,” Diana says, as if it were so easy and steps into the kitchen. “After that, after Catherine is safe and the weapons are secure, we'll leave together.”

Kate pauses where the wood flooring meets kitchen tile, watching her open the refrigerator to retrieve the pitcher of water. She understands that she will never convince her. She understands what she will have to do and the knowledge sits heavy in her chest.

“Please don't make me send you away,” she says. 

Diana looks at her firm. “You couldn't even if you tried.”

All Kate feels is a suffocating sadness. She hates this, hates everything she feels inside her right now, hates that Diana doesn't have a choice in this despite what she thinks. Kate will keep her safe even if she has to hurt them both to do it. She hates that, in their dwindling last moments, what she feels the most is this hate inside her and Diana's barely controlled tolerance. She has to fix this. They can't part like this.

She steps into the kitchen, takes the pitcher from her hands and tosses it in the sink with a loud crash, cold water splashing along the countertop and cabinets. When Diana protests, she slams the refrigerator door and pins her against it, stealing a savage kiss, a last one, one that will stay in both their memories. She doesn't want Diana to forget, especially after what she is about to do. She wants Diana to remember how good they are together. 

She hears her name and shushes her with another kiss, frenzied and desperate. Kate can't afford talking just yet. Talking will only lead to goodbye and right now, she wants one last moment of love, just one more. Aren't they owed at least that?

“Kate.” Her name comes again on a breathless voice. “We aren't finished talking.” 

“Please, Diana.” Kate kisses her again, softer now. “I need this.” 

A few dense moments of silence pass, foreheads resting against each other's, hands holding arms steady, and breath warm on cheeks. Kate swallows and closes her eyes. She makes her plea one more time.

“Please.”

A wave of relief rushes through her when Diana concedes and kisses her back. She coaxes her from the fridge to the table, grips her thighs and lifts her just enough to set her on the edge. She doesn't care about herself at the moment. Only Diana is important right now. Please remember, Diana. Remember how much I love you.

Kate takes her there on the table. It's hard and fast, almost desperate, and when it's over, she nearly cries holding her. Please don't hate me. Kate pushes herself from the table and helps Diana sit, touching her face, smoothing her hair. Are you all right? She's answered with a nod, feels comfort from Diana's hand soft on her cheek. God, I love you.

She gives Diana a moment to catch her breath and leaves to grab a change of clothes. Tenderly and with all the love inside her, Kate helps her from the table to her feet and dries her with a cloth. She lays the softest kisses to her eyelashes, her cheek, her forehead and whispers such beautiful words.

Kneeling on hard tile, she holds out the clean pair of underwear and helps her slip into them. Then gently, she guides her arms in the gray sweatshirt with the faded West Point lettering. Kate cradles her close, a precious treasure she doesn't want to break and cannot afford to lose.

“Kate,” Diana starts, reaching up to hold her face. “What's wrong?” 

“I love you more than my next heart beat, Diana. Please know that,” Kate says gently peeling her hand from her cheek. She kisses the palm of Diana's armored hand. “I'm sorry.” 

Before Diana can say anything, Kate steps away from her, hating how curious Diana looks at her now, confused, and almost frightened by the uncertainty and her strange behavior. There's nothing she can do to soothe the worry, so she looks away instead.

She says, “Go ahead and take her.” 

The small breeze that smells of olive oil tells her that Athena has appeared. The surprise in Diana's voice immediately gives way to fear when she figures out what is happening. 

“No. No, wai-!” 

From the corner of her eye, Kate can see her take a step, but not another, because in the next moment, Athena and Diana are gone. It shouldn't have gone that way. She knows it shouldn't have, but she doesn't have the words Diana does to persuade a better outcome. She didn't know what else to do but ask Athena. She didn't know. Athena's breeze dies immediately and Kate is left alone in the darkened kitchen, half dressed and head low. 

“I'm sorry.”

-

Aphrodite frowns as she watches Kate hate herself in the dark dead silence of her kitchen. She turns her attention to Themyscira where Athena and Diana have just appeared in the quiet of the armory. Diana stumbles a few steps forward, still reaching out for Kate who is no longer in front of her. 

“-ait!” 

Her eyes widen when she realizes what has happened, where she is, and she turns to Athena, demands to be brought back. Her eyes are hard and cold. Aphrodite doesn't pay attention to their conversation. She switches back and forth between Diana infuriated and Kate self-hating and frowns even more.

Their shine, it's diminishing to a light glow, sullied and weak, a lightning bug with so much left to do running out of life. None of this pleases Aphrodite. How can mortals ruin their own happiness so frequently, so quickly, and so easily, then tell themselves they did the right thing? The hole in Diana where her gifts used to be has deepened. In the last five minutes, she has hollowed even more, to the point where even her shadow struggles to find where she stands. Aphrodite is beginning to doubt if she and Kate can ever recover from this.

-

**The armory of Themyscira**

“Take me back,” Diana demands, glaring for the first time ever at her patron, who doesn't take it well. 

“You dare to make demands of me?” Athena asks, her voice echoing loud in the room as she spies her with unfeeling eyes. “Do you forget who you speak to, Diana?” 

Athena waits until Diana's expression waivers and slides into unfathomable sorrow. She lowers her head, shoulders trembling with all the emotion she tries to contain, emotion she once was equipped to process quickly and file away, but now can barely manage.

“Great Pallas,” she says with a voice that quivers still with arrows of anger. “Please. I beg you. Take me back.” 

“I will not.” 

Diana winces. She knew the answer before she asked, but sometimes, one needs to hear the deafening no. She is more angry than she ever has been. She is hurting more than she has ever hurt before. What does she do now? How does she handle this?

If she were one to be concerned, Athena might be at this moment as she studies her favored, her once-champion, so far removed from the magnificence of what she once was, so lowered by one humbling and humiliating experience after another. The absence of her wisdom has left Diana uncertain and confused. The absence of her love has left her common and dependent. The absence of her speed, her strength, her near invulnerability has left her deliberating herself, her purpose, and her life, has filled her heart with poisonous doubts that have forced the Golden Perfect away. 

Diana of Themyscira, pride of the amazons, is now almost unraveled completely. There are but two things left to fall apart inside her, before she comes undone for good, and Athena knows they are coming up fast. 

“Dry your tears, daughter. You have no time,” Athena says and steps to the side, revealing the heavy armor and gear of Wonder Woman behind her. “The door is breached. Your sisters and your home need you.” 

Still reeling from feral sex with little aftercare, freshly ripped from the one person who can help her be herself again, Diana can't hide the incredulous and infuriated why she looks at her patron as one more thing is expected of her. It is a moment that she hates for the first time. Despite how much she has changed, she still knows her place and her duty and steps toward the armor. Athena merely observes the new feeling boiling inside her favored as she slowly pulls on the armor, begrudgingly obliging Athena in a resentful way she has never done before. 

Two things left. That is all, Athena thinks as she watches her leave the armory with shield, sword, and ax in hand. Hold fast until then, Diana. 

 

Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *JLA “The Golden Perfect” written by Joe Kelly. Diana is caught between two conflicting truths that puts her in an existential crisis. This was when she was the avatar of truth. The Perfect dissolves in her hands and truth falls subjective to majority belief. With truth constantly altering, the world starts to fall apart. It's a damn good read if you can find it.
> 
> I'm having trouble figuring out how to refer to Diana without othering her as not human. Saying she's not human isn't correct. It's too easily misinterpreted as she is "different and above" as opposed to “not better, just different." Mortal is technically more accurate, but doesn't sound right in most instances I use it here. Argh, English.


	11. What Fuels the Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gudra, Philippus, and Hippolyta go way, way back, y'all, Kate takes a breather with Donna, and Gotham receives some visitors.

**Themyscira, centuries ago**

Gudra still remembers the way the blades sang in the air as they danced beneath the blue sky with loud clangs and shrill scrapes as they clashed She still remembers the way the metal vibrated in her hands when she brought her sword down hard from above and met the edge of another, raised above the head of its wielder whose eyes were bright and alive beneath them. This is how Gudra remembers Philippus, this young and determined newly promoted Captain of the Guard who had caught her interest. 

“Good,” Gudra said, lifting into the air with a large sweep of her wings and pulling out of reach of her sword. “You're learning to look above you now.” 

Philippus lowered her guard and took in deep breathes, flashing her a smile from beneath her. With the back of her hand, she wiped at the sweat that glistened on her forehead and let out the air from her lungs. 

“I've been working on it since your last visit,” she said, beginning to walk where their gear lay. 

She bent to pick up the leather scabbard from the grass and sheathed her sword. She picked up the pouch of water and uncapped it, taking a sip as Gudra landed softly beside her. Philippus offered her a sip.

“It's still the side I'm weakest though,” she said when Gudra took a drink and handed it back to her.

“But you are much better at defending it. You can live however long you like until someone takes off your head.” 

At this, Philippus laughed softly and looked at the water pouch in her hands. She nodded in agreement and carefully recapped the pouch and slung the strap on her shoulder. 

“That much is true and the door grows more livelier by the day,” she said as they began the walk side by side back to the city. 

“Why do your gods refuse to seal it?” Gudra asked her, clasping her hands behind her back as she folded her wings flat. “If the door is so important and evil attempts escape, why even give it a way out?”

“The underworld is not a place of evil, Gudra,” Philippus told her. “All souls go to Hades at some point. It is as part of the world as the sky. Sealing the door would be like applying a tourniquet to starve a limb.”

“If all souls go to the same place, why are the people you split from so concerned with karma?” She looked at her puzzled, but felt a warmth radiate inside her when Philippus smiled at her amused. 

“It's as expansive down there as our world is up here and there are different places, some better than others. If there were no conditions for paradise, everyone would be there and it would no longer be a paradise.”

Gudra considered this for a minute, supposing it was not too much unlike her world even if the conditions for this underworld were mystifying. What an odd concept, she thought, tying the next life with the deeds of this one, making the same place either a reward or a punishment. It was a good thing she would never have to worry about winding up in these amazons' underworld. It sounded like a prison. 

“And you amazons guard the door to make sure every soul on either side stays on their side until their time.” 

“There's a balance between realms,” Philippus said. “Even one soul out of place too long can tip that balance and pull the whole world asunder.”

“Hm.” Gudra considered the concept for a moment. It wasn't something she understood completely, but she at least respected the drive for honorable death in combat it created and she admired the steadfast way Philippus took their duty. She winced when her heel came in contact with a small pebble that dug into the skin and frowned. “How do you stand walking all the time?”

“That's why we have boots.” 

The laugh Philippus let out filled Gudra's chest with warm bubbles. It was precisely her thoughtful solemnity that first impressed her. Philippus was as serious about honor and duty as any proud warrior should be, but it was in these moments though, the ones where the training is over and they enjoyed a conversation as they winded down, that Gudra looked forward to the most. She didn't think Philippus knew how much she lit up. She must have had an odd expression because Philippus' expression grew concerned.

“Is something wrong?” she asked her, reaching over to lightly touch her shoulder. 

Gudra shook her head and said, “No, nothing is wrong. I was just noticing how lovely you are when you relax. It is nice to see a soft expression on your face from time to time.” 

Philippus laughed again. “Everyone calls me the sour captain for a reason with the exception of the queen. She calls me her resolute captain instead.” 

There were several times during her imprisonment in the underworld where Gudra remembered this moment and wished she'd thought more of how her postulate turned her face as she spoke of the queen, how quiet she became at the mention of her, before making a stealthy recovery. If she had seen it for the seed it was, she could have kept the plant from growing, but she hadn't. When she'd left that time, she had thought everything would be just as it was when she returned, but it never was again.

-

The next time she visited, Philippus had been promoted again and Gudra wondered how much time had passed. Maybe she should pay more attention. Her postulate was a little more mature, a little older than the last time, though not by much for someone who never truly ages. Gudra had shown up right before the festival for Demeter and Philippus convinced her to stay. At first, it made her heart feel light, being escorted around and introduced to her different soldiers, the ones she called friends. 

She had just been introduced to the new Captain of the Guard, ancient compared to mortals outside the island, but still inexperienced and young for an amazon. Gudra doesn't even remember her name, hadn't cared to. She had been more concerned with watching when all the soldiers, including her postulate, straightened to attention when the queen approached. 

Hippolyta put them at ease and said, “Come now. It's the day of Demeter. Let your soldiers enjoy it, Colonel, and yourself as well while you're at it.” 

Then without waiting for her to, Hippolyta shooed the soldiers away, leaving Philippus surprised and almost gaping at her. 

“My queen,” she protests. “What of the –.” 

“As resolute as ever, Philippus,” Hippolyta chided in amusement.

Gudra noticed the way her postulate's cheeks darkened with the blush and then even more so when the queen stepped closer to her. From the look in her eyes, she could tell Hippolyta had noticed too and Gudra didn't like the way it made her smile. 

“Your preceptor has decided to stay for the festival?” Hippolyta asked.

Philippus immediately, dropped to a knee, pulling Gudra down with her, not only flushing red but also embarrassed now at her lapse in propriety. 

“I wanted my preceptor and my queen to meet,” she said, lowering her head, as if grateful her face couldn't be seen. Gudra really didn't like that. 

“Yes,” she said with some spice in her voice. “I was invited, queen.” 

It was like neither of them heard the bitterness in her voice or the disrespect in the title. They were both too concerned with the other, another thing Gudra didn't like. Hippolyta raised them both from their knees, insisting there was no need, but she let her hand linger on Philippus' shoulder while she smiled at Gudra.

“I have heard quite a bit about the colonel's valkyrie preceptor,” she said. When she retrieves her hand from Philippus' shoulder, she lets her fingertips trail along her skin. “She has taken quite a few of your lessons to heart. It has made her style unique amongst us all and it's a pleasure to watch her.” 

Philippus was barely capable of words and stumbled over the ones she did manage. 

“You flatter me, my queen,” she said. “I am no more unique than any of our sisters.” 

“Are you arguing with me?” Hippolyta asked her, but there was mirth in her smile. “It would do you well to remember that I don't compliment lightly. When I say I have noticed someone, I very well mean it, and I have noticed you, Colonel.”

She folded her arms across her chest and held her in gaze of mild amusement as Philippus apologized through the flattered smile she couldn't contain. That night, the queen of the amazons looked enchanted by Gudra's postulate. When Hippolyta bid them good night, Gudra studied Philippus' profile as she watched her walk away. She was struck. Her postulate, her Philippus, was in love. The thought unsettled her.

“You've done well for yourself,” Gudra said to hide the surprising hurt she felt at this. “You now receive the flirtations of the queen you admire so.” 

The way Philippus' head snapped her way, face stunned and horrified, would have made her laugh if she wasn't still nursing the pain from earlier.

“What? No, that wasn't-. The queen would never-!” she said defensively. “She is just kind. That is all.” 

Gudra laughed, partly out of entertainment and partly out of relief. For once, in the decades she had been working to grow closer to her, Gudra was glad Philippus was dense as hell.

-

One of her favorite memories of Philippus is of her on one of her last visits. When she saw her in the sky, descending, her postulate shaded her eyes with a hand. She could see the brilliant smile on her face, the small breeze of her wings lightly blowing through the cloth of her clothing. She looked so happy. Philippus was so happy to see her.

As she landed, Philippus caught her at the waist and Gudra landed in her arms. It made her heart beat faster in her chest unexpectedly, but she liked the feeling of it, the small rush of excitement. She would have liked to stay like that a little longer, grasping each other by the waist and shoulders. Gudra would cherish this image of her for centuries after, trying to freeze it at this moment, trying to forget what happened right after it, but she never could. She remembers what she said to Philippus and after that, she always remembers everything else.

“My postulate is in a good mood today,” she observed with a smile that Philippus returned. 

“You came on a blessed day,” Philippus told her taking hold of her hand and pulling her through the city streets. “Come and see.” 

Gudra stared after her stunned, but let Philippus drag her through the streets, the giddiness in her influencing her own until she felt just as light hearted even though her feet touched the ground. Philippus had pulled her to the palace where the guards salute her now and call her general. The halls of the palace echoed with their footsteps until they stopped at a door. She pushed it open with a soft knock and held it open.

She recognized the woman in the room, sitting next to a small cradle, as the amazon queen, Hippolyta, and she immediately knelt and folded her wings even flatter. Soft laughter from both amazons lifted in the air and Philippus touched her shoulder, smiled down at her, and told her to stand. 

“This is a place of equals, Gudra,” Philippus told her, helping her to her feet. “A place where I give the queen counsel.” 

Hippolyta added, “Because she is frightfully honor bound and required a place where no one can see, as she puts it, a lowly general presuming to be the equal of a queen.” 

“It is to protect your authority.” The embarrassment on Philippus' face was nothing new in the presence of the queen, but the mild disapproval was. Since when did her postulate speak so intimately with her monarch? Even if this was a room of equals. Philippus said, “You should not be seen being advised by one such as me. You have no equal, Lyta, but if you did, I am certainly not it.”

Hippolyta watched her as she came around the cradle to her side with a small frown, but she says, “I believe your fearful heart has told your logic tales of conceit, Philippus, but I thank you for the flattering words.”

Gudra didn't miss the way they looked at each other, this disgusting exchange of mutual fondness, the clear desire on both sides. This was not the postulate she knew. Philippus was no longer oblivious and easily flustered, no longer so young that her eyes looked only where her ambition led. What had happened to her?

The baby cooed and the two of them extended their affection to the crib. Philippus took Gudra's hand and drew her closer, proudly, like any father might looking down on a little viking just birthed. 

“And this little princess is Diana,” Philippus tells her, “a gift from the gods for us to cherish.” 

“The father?” Gudra asked, perplexed and didn't appreciate how the room filled again with Hippolyta's laugh. 

“She is mine,” she said. “The babe I pleaded for, given the breath of life from our patrons. There is no father, Gudra, unless you count our Philippus.” 

The dark blush that became of Philippus' face would have stopped Gudra's heart if it had been she who had caused it, but it hadn't been, and so it only soured her mood more. While her postulate flustered for words to respond with, the queen only laughed more. Gudra decided she didn't like her laugh. 

“You jest, my queen,” Philippus said, looking away. 

“I do nothing of the sort,” Hippolyta replied, so delighted at her effect on her. “You have been just as involved and nearly more eager for Diana than I was.” 

Philippus flushed more and Gudra hated all of it. When had the queen wormed her way in and latched herself to her postulate's heart? What filthy magic did she use to steal her away right from beneath her? When exactly did the queen take away what was rightfully hers? Gudra cleared her throat and stepped forward between them as if doing so would block their connection. She looked down at the baby in the crib. 

“Congratulations, your highness,” she said to Hippolyta, but the lightness of her voice didn't match her stoic face. “It seems your gods favor you greatly. How nice.” 

How nice you have their benevolence and the eyes of the one I have spent decades trying to be seen by. How nice you have everyone's love. Was it truth that the most favored of people unfairly received more services than everyone else? Greedy, she decided. People like Hippolyta were nothing but greedy, taking more than they were owed or deserved. She watched as Philippus quietly crept closer to Hippolyta until she was close enough to touch, but her hand hesitated. It was the queen who nonchalantly took the outstretched hand and they both gazed down at the baby girl. 

Gudra excused herself. She suddenly felt ill and needed fresh air. The stench in this so called room of equals made her want to vomit.

-

Pair bonded! They plan to be bound by soul?! Gudra could not contain the rage within her. How long had this been going on right under her nose? How many visits had she endured in Hippolyta's presence never knowing when she might have her postulate alone once again? When had this courting taken place? A decade ago? Two? Three? Before the brat was even breathed life? 

She let the heavy wooden door slam closed behind her when she entered the room in the palace she'd been allowed to use for her stay. Like she wanted to be a guest of the queen. She was the guest of her Philippus and had always stayed with her in her humble barracks. Did the queen wish to keep them apart? Was that it?

What was it about Hippolyta that drew the attention of her postulate, anyway? Her hair was dark like raven wings, like ominous clouds that carry Odin's wrath instead of rays of warm sun like hers. Her skin was sullied with sun-touch, not like hers, pristine and not compromised by this world of mortals. She was not the one who trained Philippus, gave her the gift of advantage in the battlefield, nor was she the one who noticed her even before she was captain, when she was just a spark waiting to kindle. 

Was it because she was queen, their queen? That is the only advantage Gudra could see in her favor. Queen is just a title, easily passed from person to person. Anyone can be queen. Any amazon who can kill a queen can be queen. Any warrior who can defeat an amazon can become an amazon.

It was the dead of night when the idea came to her, like any idea thought up in the midst of madness. If Philippus wanted a queen, then Gudra would give her one. Amazons were warriors and like all warriors, they had certain customs where one's identity, even one's affiliations, were wagered on the skill with the sword, and showcased before the entire tribe for assessment.

It was a few hours before sunrise when Gudra entered the royal chambers, because like all maddening ideas, it couldn't wait until proper hours. If she weren't enraged already, she would have been when she saw her Philippus in the queen's bed, asleep beside her. Nothing could have stopped Gudra now. She pulled Hippolyta from the bed by a fistful of dark hair, yanking her to the cold stone below and the startled noise she made awoke her postulate. 

To this day, Gudra doesn't understand the surprise she saw on Philippus' face. This was clearly the only way this could have played. Hadn't she known that? She declared the official challenge there in the dark of the bedroom, looming over Hippolyta with the moonlight caught on her wings. 

At dawn, just a few hours later, in front of all her subjects, Hippolyta defended her life, her courtship, and ultimately her throne, because Gudra intended to take all three, even if Philippus stared at her with those cold eyes. She still doesn't know how she lost. She doesn't remember how Philippus' judgement had made her aim unsteady, her movements coarse, left her wide open for the blade to pierce and run her through. All Gudra remembers of the challenge is the hatred she had for Hippolyta. The last thing she saw while dying on foreign soil, was Philippus kneeling by Hippolyta's side to help her to her feet. 

Then she was gone and she awoke in that godforsaken prison, the Greek's blasted underworld. She was punished for crimes in another pantheon's territory. They'd kept her shackled down, unable to fly, beneath an opening of hollowed earth that let her see the sky, the sun and the moon, the clouds in the day and the stars at night, taunting her with the very things that sustain her but was forbidden to touch again. They'd kept her grounded until her wings molted and hatred changed her body, cracked and twisted bone until she was no longer valkyrie but harpy and belonged to the underworld. 

It was all her fault. Hippolyta. That queen, the queen, that wretched queen.

-

**Themyscira, almost two months ago**

The first thing Gudra did when Doom's Door was opened was look for Philippus. For centuries, several thousand years in underworld time, while her hatred reshaped her body, the only relief from the painful transformation was the thought of Philippus, her quiet laugh, the shy smile that needed to be coaxed out of her, the way she looked when she gazed up in the sky and saw Gudra floating down to her. The small bouts of happiness were always cut short by the image of Hippolyta who, in her delusions, always lurked in the shadows not far scheming.

Gudra watched the battle for Themyscria unfold below her as the creatures she'd rallied poured from the door in a constant stream. She had not spent her time wasting away down there for nothing. She had always known she would find a way out, always known she would need an army to keep the amazons busy while she looked for the only one who mattered. She'd had them lined up and waiting when Clete first called her sister's name through the door. After all, Gudra was in love. Who wouldn't wage war for the one they love?

It wasn't too long before she spied the one she loves the most, armored and dashing, fighting alongside the one she hates most. It was a small group escorting the queen, slowly making their way through the overrun city. To where? Some place safe to stash their precious monarch? Gudra's nose curled at the thought. 

She caught sight of her co-conspirator, the amazon Clete, making her way across the field quickly, striking down her sisters while they were still surprised to see her. Gudra knew the fury in her eyes saw no one but the two she sought. In this way, she and Clete were exactly the same. They both quested to be reunited with their love and kill the one who separated them.

-

Philippus didn't know what happened, no one did. All she knew was that the door was opened and remained so. Every amazon was thrust into battle without strategy or plan, but at least their training prevailed. They quickly paired to guard each other's backs, to lend their eyes and borrow others to see for a battlefield is a hostile environment that extends in all directions at once. There are so many of these monsters, so many soulless creatures pouring onto Themysciran soil. Philippus, Hippolyta, and Raedne felt the ground shake with the footsteps before they saw the giants through the tree line, three brothers who were slain long ago and still enraged by it. 

The brothers were on them in just a few short strides, making short work of everything in front of them. Behind Philippus, Raedne covered the queen fiercely, knocking aside any who dared lift a sword toward her back. Philippus waved an arm to grab her attention, shouting. 

“Take the queen and run,” she yelled, knocking the blade of a sword that came singing in the air for her head.

“Disregard that,” Hippolyta shouted back, blocking the claws of a harpy that came down hard on her and shoving it off her. “This is my home too. I will defend it as well.” 

Philippus barely dodged the foot of the first giant, his jagged yellow toenail scraping off the metal of her armor with such force it knocked her down. Raedne looked confused, not sure who to listen to right now, just as the giant's hand came reaching down to grab Philippus. With a broad swipe of her sword in an arc above her head, Philippus sliced the length of the palm and while he recoiled from the pain, she set upon Raedne the most intimidating glare.

“Your orders are to keep your queen safe,” she told her. “Now, go!” 

The clueless look on Raedne's face drained immediately and she spun and grabbed the edge of Hippolyta's chest plate just as it opened to her shoulder, yanked her backward, and off her feet. It was almost humorous how easily she carried her. Hippolyta was angry and surprised at the same time while shouting reprimands at her general. Then she caught sight of Philippus and stopped, stunned how simple relief could make such a disarming expression. It was a bittersweet gladness mixed with pangs of fear and profound gratitude. Philippus gave her such a tender smile in the midst of bloody violence. Her lips moved. Hippolyta knew what she said even though her voice didn't carry. 

_Be safe, beloved. I love you._

Hippolyta's eyes widened when the harpy from earlier swooped down and knocked Philippus to her knees into the shadow of the giant's foot that was hurtling down above her. All Hippolyta could do was watch as bodies blocked her view. Above them, she could see the giant bring his foot down with a heavy thud that rattled the ground and everyone around him. She didn't even make a noise. Hippolyta was silent when she pulled her gaze away to look forward as Raedne took her away. 

“I'm sorry, your highness,” Raedne says as she hauls her through the battlefield. “I have orders. The general-.” 

“The general will be fine, Raedne,” Hippolyta tells her quietly. “Carry out your orders.” 

She'll be fine, Hippolyta knew. Philippus will be fine. A queen who had no trust in her commanders had no business being queen at all. She only needed a minute to feel through the fear in her, not as a monarch, but as a bonded partner who didn't know if she would see her other again. 

And their home, their island. It wept that night, forced to drink the blood of its people made prey by an infestation of the underworld. Hippolyta didn't see the pair of white wings swooping down from the air, nor the person it swiped from the ground. All she saw was how the gates of Themyscira splintered and then shattered, crumbling to the ground. 

-

**Gotham, Two weeks ago**

Batwoman perched on a gargoyle with legs swung over the side, dangling over nothing but air and a hard landing. She liked Gotham the best up here, looking down on the commotion, the wind making her cape billow, and the night sky bleeding into the city scape. She thought it made her look as bad ass as she felt up here, rising above any problems, indestructible and shatterproof. That was, however, not how she felt with Donna Troy sitting beside her like they were kids on a swing set. The Golden Perfect was looped on her left and her Silver Persuasion looped on her right, both of them lighting up their little perch. 

Donna gaped at her. “You did that to her?”

“What other choice did I have?” Batwoman asked. “She's a target. The first thing you do to protect a target is to make sure it can't be found.” 

“I'm not arguing that.” She shook her head. “But I can guarantee she's not going to take that well, even if it was in her best interests.” 

“I'll just have to cross that bridge when I get there.” 

Donna watched Batwoman's profile for a minute. Her shoulders were stiff and her entire body looked wound tight, but the cape hid it all well. She decided not to say anything about it and returned her gaze to the Gotham skyline. The view made her think of Diana and she looked down at the Perfect looped at her left. She hadn't been able to bring herself to use it yet. Even though it was on her person, it still didn't feel like hers.

“Last time I saw this view, I was with her and this wasn't on me,” she said, loosening it so she could hold it where they both could see, one end swaying with the night breeze. “I still can't get used to it, seeing everybody filtered through this. I don't know how she carried it all the time.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“There are lots of reasons why people lie and the ones that aren't done maliciously all have the same thing in common,” Donna said, slowly drawing the Perfect through a loose fist to wind it back up. “It's to make someone feel better, whether that's us or someone else. People's truths are really ugly. We're all just great big messes of a few memories and impulsive thoughts we constantly have to filter. We're petty, selfish, apathetic... It's not pretty, not even in the nicest person you know.” 

“I would believe that.” Batwoman nodded.

“Can you imagine what the Joker looks like on the inside? Or Lex Luthor? Darkseid even. I'm sure she's probably seen all of that and she's never told anyone, you know? What it's like to be this thing's keeper.”

A gust of wind came up from below and she tossed a glance downwards sure some meta-human was flying a little too fast between the skyscrapers, but she saw nothing. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and laced her gloved fingers together. 

“Diana is different from you and me though,” Batwoman said. “Truth is beautiful to her, no matter what it looks like, and that made her love every truth she saw in everyone.”

Donna merely nodded her head as she replaced the Perfect by her side and said, “Yeah, well. I like my Persuasion better, all the practicality of the Perfect with none of the baggage. And it matches my outfit to boot.” 

“I think that's fair, Donna.”

Kate could only think about how powerful it was to her, the moment she realized Diana saw her and still loved her. She could love anyone, really, but she chose her, this rolled up wreck of broken thoughts and bad memories not fit for anything or anyone. Diana chose her.

She's lost so many people anyway, so many classmates and soldiers she knew in another life throwing their lives into one war or another, and if they survived that, they had to come home and survive themselves. She didn't think she could go through it again. Diana is the one person in the entire world who has slowly been convincing her that maybe there is something in her to love. If she lost her too? She didn't know if she could come back from the dark place that would bring her to. 

“So, I gotta know,” Batwoman said, pushing those thoughts back deep down inside and looking out into the sea of street lights, letting herself smirk. “Tell me my truth is gaudy and deserving of my good name. Maybe a gold covered pile of garbage life experiences with some diamonds all held together by the aether of me.”

“No, it's nothing like that,” Donna said, not even humoring her. “The only way I can think to describe yours is that it's like something precious trapped in a cage made of scars. You have so many scars.”

Batwoman raised a knee and let the sole of her boot rest flat on the stone. She rested an outstretched arm on it, hand dangling by the wrist. Then she nodded.

“That sounds about right, yeah.”

Donna took in a breath. “Mine's just as scary as yours for different reasons and everyone's is heartbreaking in some way. I wasn't as self aware as you are though.”

Batwoman looked at her and said, “That must have been a shock, seeing yourself like that.” 

Donna was quiet a moment before she gave a slow nod. 

“It was,” she said. “How'd Diana do it? Just how much compassion was left after she returned her gifts? I've only had it two months and I feel like mine's been drained away. She held on to it for eight months gift-less and she did it here, in Gotham, of all places.” 

“Well, hell, kid.” Batwoman sighed and draped a heavy arm around Donna's shoulders. “I don't think that compassion was gifted. I think that's just who she is.” 

“Huh. No wonder everyone loves her,” Donna said, as if understanding that in a whole new way. Her shoulders moved when she let out a huff of air. “When you get her back here, I don't care how or why or what has to happen, but she's taking this thing back, dammit.”

Batwoman laughed. 

“Don't think you'll get any arguments about that, Donna.”

-

**Gotham, one week ago**

On a pier in Gotham Harbor, a small breeze that smelled faintly of olives whispered by a lamp post, scattering a few scraps of paper and a crumpled plastic bag. Three women emerged from the fog. Two of the them glanced around, out of place, nearly out of time, and choked on the smog that burned their lungs. The amazon Raedne made a face at the stench of waste fermenting in stale water and coughed, a little bleary eyed. 

“Not to question you, my Lady Wisdom,” she asked, “but you are sure we have not died? I remember almost dying two-seconds ago.”

“We are not dead, Raedne,” Hippolyta answered instead. The scraping of a discarded receipt along the cement caught her ear and she turned to look at it. “Though this poison atmosphere could persuade one otherwise.”

“This place is called Gotham, where Kate Kane brought your daughter after their trials were assigned. I have need of you and your escort here,” Athena said. 

Hippolyta turned to face her and immediately bowed her head. “We do as you ask, revered patron of amazons.” 

Athena cast her gaze upward, toward the towering blocked shapes that organized its stars in neat, squared rows. Raedne followed her line of sight and pursed her lips with a raised eyebrow. She thought it was good she named Kate the dawn, because this Gotham didn't look like it'd seen dawn in decades. 

“Retrieve Kate Kane,” Athena said to Hippolyta. “She will be needed on Themyscira soon.”

With her head still bowed, Hippolyta sank to one knee in one graceful movement and said, “Great Pallas, I beg your pardon for a few questions.”

Athena stepped forward and took gentle hold of Hippolyta's chin, lifting it up, and offered her an uncharacteristically soft smile. 

“Worry not, Hippolyta. Your bonded one defends Themyscira still and you will see Diana with your own eyes soon. Are your questions answered?” 

Eyes closed and chin still held in place, Hippolyta took in a breath and nodded, thanking her. 

“A man of black will find you,” Athena told them. “Let him.”

 

Continued…


	12. All For Naught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She only wanted to keep Diana safe, but life and others in it never seem to agree with her on how that should be done.

There is an awful silence in the apartment now where there used to be the sounds of life, laughter drifting down the halls or music wafting through the curtains. Feet on wood flooring and dinner conversations are missing, Diana's voice no longer sings softly to Oscar, and the hushed sighs and soft moans of lovemaking have vanished. Before, Kate was used to the quiet apartment when it had been the only place she felt safe enough to just be, without worrying about being good or decent, but Diana had changed that. Every place beside Diana had felt safe and she filled the apartment with her presence. Now, there is nothing but her absence.

Kate misses her. She misses seeing her walking around in a pair of Kate's boxers pilfered from her drawer, misses walking into the living room and finding her stretched out on the couch with a book, or listening to something new that has caught the ears of her heart. She misses the life that came to her eyes when she came home and talked of the clinics or wherever she'd been servicing the people of Gotham in her own way. 

It has been three weeks and she hasn't had contact with Diana at all. The mystical means by which Themyscira stays hidden also block any kind of electronic communication. Messages and people must be heralded by gods and the gods have been eerily quiet as of late. Because Themyscira cannot be found from the outside, Kate had always known that sending Diana away could mean they may never see each other again, but even Athena can't be that cruel though, right?

It took her days to convince Catherine to allow Barbara and Tim to rework the entire security system and reset every passcode, but she finally conceded. All that was left was the fun part. Surveillance, investigation, and good old fashioned street brawls. In the weeks that followed, after tracking down more loose prototypes and missing crates at all hours, Kate would return to the apartment, tired and worn and with a spattering of fresh bruises, pull a chair from Oscar's kitchen table and feel her mood sink as quickly as her adrenaline faded. She would sit in the dark kitchen with him and feel quietly judged.

“Listen, son. I don't need your judgement. I'm bringing her back,” she would tell him, eyeing his lopsided sombrero. “So sorry, bud, but I'd thought she was my girlfriend, not yours. My mistake, asshat.” 

Then she would reach over and tap his sombrero almost hoping he'd prick her finger with a needle, but he never does. Who taught you how to be a cactus anyway? 

She would sigh and sit back with enough force to rattle the back of the chair. She just wants Diana and their life together back, but she has to make Gotham safe first. Once she does that, she can see her heart again.

-

On the roof of the complex, Batwoman darts across the gravel and piping as she moves into position. The patrol up here is sparse and unassuming and she takes all five men out easily, one by one. On the slanted tin shingled roof, she makes her way to a window in the roof and peers down through the glass. No wonder his security is light outside. Black Mask has almost every inch of the warehouse covered by at least two live pairs of watchful eyes. Then she sees why. 

The Mask himself is strolling along with an escort of men, inspecting crates and barking orders. He points to a large wooden one spray painted H.Industries and gestures around. A man slides a pallet jack beneath it and cranks it up a few notches, preparing to move it. It's the last missing crate and if she's lucky, the remaining twenty-five prototypes are still packed inside it. 

“Come on, come on,” Batwoman mutters, looking for where Black Mask points, to where they're moving it. “What the hell's he waiting for?” 

The explosion on the other side of the complex is sudden and loud, illuminating the night with a flash of orange and yellow before the fire implodes in a fit of black clouds. Below, she can see the Mask shouting more orders while the men separate into organized groups, a standard squad sized group of men that yanks open the warehouse doors and then breaks into two fire teams once outside to investigate the explosion where Red Hood can easily take them down. The second secures the door, another cake walk for him. The last fire team makes a secure formation around Black Mask. He sends one back for the crate before walking toward the rear entrance. Six men left inside, including the boss. She got the easier job.

She drops down through the sky light and stalks the man pushing the crate, easily taking him down quietly and dragging his body out of sight, which leaves four and one. By the doors, gunfire breaks out and she curses as Red Hood rushes through and takes cover behind a few large crates with four men running in after him. Black Mask and his men spin and see her. Well, so much for stealth. 

She rushes them, flinging her kevlar cape in front of her to ward off the bullets before launching herself to slam a knee hard in the sternum of one of them and uses the momentum to smash an elbow into the man behind him before he can bring his weapon up. As soon as she lands, she's up in the air again as the remaining three men open fire. Two batarangs take out two of them and the last man standing feels her boot crack his jaw with a sickening crunch. 

Black Mask stands watching her with his cigar between his teeth, holsters his weapon, and then gives a slow clap while Red Hood's fight rages on behind her. She glares at his nonchalant attitude more than she does at him. Villains. Always so damn macho.

“I thought you'd show up sooner or later.”

“I'm taking the prototypes,” she says, advancing toward the crate. “Please. Try and stop me. I want you to.”

The end of his cigar flares like a mini sun between his fingers and he exhales a cloud of smoke and says, “I can see why you're on the list. The black get up certainly fits the theme.” 

“What are you on about?” 

“Oh, you don't know about that?” Black Mask grins at her. “Well, the little man does have certain proclivities one doesn't like to advertise.” 

Behind her, the gunfire is lessening and the commotion is calming, but she doesn't move when Red Hood joins them, skidding to a stop beside her. The Mask acknowledges him with a quick nod. 

“Good of you to join us, Red Hood. I was just telling your friend about Cobblepot's list. Do you know about it?”

“Should I?” 

“Come now,” the Mask said clicking his tongue. “Every man has a list of names, maybe ranked and listed in the order he'd like to have them. Even you, I'd bet.”

Batwoman is tempted to ignore him and take the crate away, but she is a Bat after all and not knowing something bothers her like centipedes crawling up her arms. She steps forward and grabs a fistful of his suit, yanking him closer.

“You have ten-seconds to start talking.”

Black Mask exhales a puff of smoke, and then straightens his black gloves carefully and says, “Cobblepot is building himself a little zoo, Batwoman, one with premium attractions for its premium entry price. Now you want to take a guess what that list is?”

Her lip curls in disgust and she punches him. Her punch hits him so hard it knocks him off his feet and he falls flat the smooth cement. Red Hood places a boot on his chest and pins him flat on his back, both of his guns pointed straight down.

“Don't move.”

She says, through her teeth, “We're taking the prototypes.” 

Then she turns away to inspect the crate and its contents, the red inside of her cape flashing like a tease beneath all the black. From the ground he laughs and tests his jaw and she ignores him while she works. 

“If you must, you must. Nice hook you got there. Strong. Like an amazon. You've been chummy with a certain amazon lately, right?” 

She doesn't respond as she finishes verifying all the rifles are still packed inside and pulls the lid back on. 

“He was ripe with envy of you, that Cobblepot,” the Mask continued, taking his time to glance around for his fallen cigar. “Wanted an amazon of his very own, see. So I gave him one.” 

She sees red. From the blood that drips from his chin, from the bloody nose beneath his mask, from the blur of her fist as she's on him again delivering blow after blow, and from Red Hood as he yanks her off him. She rips her arm from Red Hood's grasp, spins on her heel, and leaves him to deal with Black Mask.

Fuck the prototypes. They aren't important to her anymore. She can always track them down again. On her com-link, she calls Batgirl, cursing impatiently when she doesn't answer immediately.

“Give me the address of Cobblepot's construction site.” 

“But that's-.” 

“No, BeeGee. _Now._ ”

-

It's almost morning when Batwoman lands on the unfinished roof of the modest looking one story building. Batgirl tried to convince her to wait for backup. Sure, she'll wait while Diana could be somewhere below. That's a completely reasonable expectation to have of her. Batwoman merely gives her an affirmative, goes radio silent, and slips inside the building through an unfinished window. Like she ever waits for anyone. The outline of the small top floor has the makings of a stage, a bar, and a counter on the other end. From first glance it looks like just another night club like his Iceberg Lounge. 

In the back there is an elevator that takes her down a long way beneath ground and opens to a hallway, made of solid steel on all four sides. She steps into the well lit hall, past a large desk where some receptionist will be stationed, to large sliding doors with a key code panel with a screen that displays the word “Locked” in black block letters. Shit. Should have thought of this really. She bangs a fist against the door and gives it a swift kick just because she can.

Then the screen on the lock flashes, catching her attention. She approaches it carefully. Words flash on the screen one by one. _You. Owe. Me. Big. Time._ The number keys light up in a specific order and she hears the lock switch click before the door slides open. Barbara fucking Gordon. She could kiss the girl. Well. Maybe she'll just pay her tuition next year. The screen flashes again. _BTdubs. You're. Welcome._

Batwoman smiles and slips inside. It's a series of rooms, dressed up like a hotel hallway complete with a potted fake plant beneath a sign that directs which rooms lay beyond. Her lip curls as she walks down it. Sure, Catherine. He's a model of a man. Sick bastard. All of the electronic locks are powered down except two that glow red. Which one is Diana behind? She'd better be all right or Cobblepot has a date with her fist.

As she inspects the first door, the first lock clicks, and flashes green. That beautiful saint of a Batgirl. Batwoman shoves the door open. It's four inches thick and heavy as well. She barely gets it open enough to squeeze through when a fist grabs the nape of her cowl, pulls her inside, and throws her against the wall. 

“What curious manner of harpy are you?”

The voice is familiar, simplistically idiotic, but clever in its own way and she looks up to see Raedne standing above her puzzled. She squats to inspect her closer. Raedne, the goddamned amazon. Batwoman pulls her into a hug that stuns her and she pushes her away, preparing to fight. Kate yanks her cowl off and grins.

“Hey, woah. It's me,” she says, holding up her hands where she can see them. “It's just me.”

The way the confusion melts away on Raedne's face and turns into absolute glee is endearing. She reaches over and yanks her into a crushing bear hug that Kate almost regrets. 

“We've found you, Atea. Now lets find the queen.” 

“Wait, what?” Kate asks, squished. Hippolyta. Not Diana. Part of her is relieved. She manages to pat her shoulder. 

“The queen is not in this room with me,” Raedne says, not sure what is confusing her little red fury of a friend. “We must find her.”

“You don't say, huh?”

“But I did just say.”

Kate chuckles. After Raedne drops her to the ground, she leads them back into the hall just as the next lock clicks open and Kate rams her shoulder against the heavy door to push it open. With Raedne's help this one swings easily and she stumbles inside. From the corner of her eye, she first sees the dark locks that spill over olive shoulders and the grecian dress trimmed in gold. She knows it's not Diana, but her heart still nearly leaps. 

Hippolyta sits on a small white cot, looking at her surprised and Kate offers a smile. Raedne is through the door past her, helping Hippolyta to her feet.

“Kate Kane,” Hippolyta says, approaching and lifting her to her feet. “A pleasure to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Kate says, straightening to receive Hippolyta's hug, “You're going to have to tell me what you two are doing here, but right now, we need to escape.”

She hears the foot steps echoing in the hallway outside, men's voices shouting orders. She holds up a wait finger to Hippolyta and pulls her cowl back in place. She looks at Raedne. 

“Want some light exercise?” 

Raedne only smiles. They step out in the hallway and disappear around the door. Loud crashes and men shouting permeate the air and Hippolyta sighs, gathers her skirt up, and steps out to see Batwoman teaching Raedne how to high five with a few men groaning around their feet. 

“No, no,” Batwoman says, lifting her gloved hand again. “It has to make a good sound, otherwise you blew it.” 

They try again and this time a small clap sounds in the hall. When the elevator doors slide open above ground, Nightwing and Red Hood are in the middle of a sprawling fight and Penguin is trying to scurry away to the unfinished stage. She flings a batarang in an attempt to pin him down but misses and he slips out the back.

“Holy fuckballs!” Batwoman shouts at the two men who look at her. “Have known of you heard of stealth?”

“You told Batgirl you'd wait for back up,” Nightwing knocks a man hard with one of his clubs as she intercepts another coming for his back. “Why didn't you-.”

“Oh, save it, bluebird. She's already told me I owe her,” she replies, intercepting another man coming for his back. “And you two let Penguin get away.”

“You seem pretty relaxed about that considering the smooth abandon you did me back there with Black Mask. Real appreciated, by the way,” Red Hood shouts at her and then notices Hippolyta and Raedne, easily knocking out a few men who charge them “And great. You've got amazons with you.” 

“The situation changed. Couldn't care less about either of them right now,” Batwoman says and vaults over the unfinished bar and slams into the last man standing, following him down hard against the wood flooring, winding him. She steps off his chest and stands, then shoots Red Hood a guilty, self-indulgent grin.  
“And what can I say? I have a type.”  
She walks to the stage and pulls her batarang from wood, inspecting the deep notch it made. Then she gestures to each group and she makes introductions.  
“Nightwing, Red Hood, meet the queen, Hippolyta, Diana's mother. That's Raedne, my favorite non-royal amazon,” she says, making her way back to them. Then she gestures to the boys. “Hippolyta, Raedne meet Nightwing. You can call him bluebird. This is Red Hood, the one and only bird boy who adopted Diana when he was just a wee little birdie. Everybody good? Good.”  
Both men look offended at this, but she doesn't care. What part of what she said wasn't true, anyway?  
Behind them, Raedne lets out a curious noise as she studies Nightwing and Red Hood from where she stands and says, “I do not remember men being so little. Are they not fed well anymore?”  
-

They sit around Kate's kitchen table with take out Chinese and two pairs of the chopsticks lay unopened. Oscar is sitting on the window sill waiting for Diana to come home. The plastic sombrero rests lopsided on his spines, threatening to fall off. Kate's hair, freshly washed, drips onto the towel around her neck and she cycles through the questions in her head trying to figure out which one to ask next. It had taken Kate a little time to calm them enough to begin explaining coherently, but even now, while she introduces them to take out Chinese, she can see the unshed nervous energy bristling around Hippolyta even if she is very good at hiding it. 

Kate will get to what has made her so anxious, but for now, she wants all of them to settle and actually eat something before appetites disappear. Whatever makes an amazon queen nervous can't be good at all. Hippolyta inspects the beef and broccoli and Raedne is completely mystified at the two sticks in Kate's hand. 

“But why would Athena need you to find me?” Kate says. “She could have just showed herself to me and whipped me away as she pleased. She's a goddamned god after all.”

Raedne eyes Kate's chopsticks, waiting patiently for her to use them again and then says, “Atea, you eat with tiny staffs.”

Kate hadn't known it was possible to miss someone she'd just met, but she had missed Raedne. She humors her and clacks the chopsticks open and closed a few times in the air, trying not to laugh at her concentrating so sternly on them.

“We can only assume Athena has a purpose,” Hippolyta says, examining the strange food that came in white boxes. “All we can do is play the roles assigned us.”

“Maybe you are to kill the valkyrie,” Raedne says, sitting back and spearing some of the sliced beef and vegetables Kate had placed on a plate before her. 

“We don't know if Gudra is responsible, Raedne,” Hippolyta says with a sigh. 

“It was her.” The words are enough to be disrespectful to her monarch, but the way Raedne says them is more like a precocious child comforting an adult. “I saw her in the sky before the giants when the general told us to run.”

“Wait, you're doing it again. I'm not tracking anymore,” Kate says, setting her chopsticks down on the edge of her plate. “First, who is Gudra?”

Through the crunch of stir fried vegetables, Raedne nonchalantly chimes in before Hippolyta can answer, “The valkyrie killed by the queen in formal challenge. She hated the queen.”

There's too much information that's been thrown out now and Kate has to raise her hand to pause the conversation and pick each piece out to untangle it. She looks at Hippolyta impressed, but mostly curious how that even happened.

“Okay,” Kate says after a thought. “One, you killed a valkyrie? And two, formal challenge?” 

“It is an old story, Kate Kane, from when valkyries used to dot our skies,” Hippolyta says with a sigh. “Gudra was the one who took Philippus as a postulate to train. It's why Philippus fights with a style unique from all of us.” 

“Just taking a stab in the dark here, but this Gudra fell in love, didn't she?” Kate asks, picking up her chopsticks again. 

Raedne looks amazed at something so obvious. “How did you know?” 

“This story already has the stink of a scorned woman all over it,” she replies, picking up a piece of chicken. “Clearly nothing came of her feelings though since you're wearing that.”

She points her chopsticks to Hippolyta's guard poking out from beneath her folded arms and Raedne chuckles through a mouth full of food but withers slightly beneath the look she receives from her queen.

“I do not know if Philippus returned any feelings,” Hippolyta says. “She began her training with Gudra before we were even acquainted in that way and she continued until after we were courted.” 

Raedne mumbles toward Kate, “She _really_ hated the queen.”

“She fell in love, Raedne. That is no crime,” Hippolyta says, stealing a few carrots to chew on. 

The loud crunching of Raedne's chewing filled the small gap of silence after this. Kate is shaking her head, lifted her armored hand to stop the story. She stands from her chair and opens a cabinet, retrieving three glasses.

“So, good ol' Gudra girl issues a formal challenge to you,” she says, setting the glasses on the counter beside the fridge. “For the throne, I'm guessing?”

Hippolyta shakes her head and her eyebrows furrow as if it is a memory she hasn't thought of in a long time. Raedne opens her mouth to reply, but lifts a hand to silence her. 

“Determination is not a challenge for the throne, Kate Kane. It is an archaic practice from the Time Before, when we had not yet been granted the isle. One became an amazon through challenge and it was any woman's right to call on a challenge,” Hippolyta tells her. “All of us, including myself, entered the tribe by defeating one already christened amazon.”

“All of us except the princess,” Raedne clarifies.

Kate considers this for a minute and gives a slow nod before she says, “Because she's lived her whole life on the island where there is no one looking to enter.” 

“She is aware of it, of course. There are plenty of our tomes that reference the Time Before and each of us carry our memory of when we called upon it ourselves. She has grown up listening to such stories,” Hippolyta says. “The last time determination was called it was by Gudra and she would not surrender until one of us was killed.” 

“All for Philippus, huh?” Kate asks, opening the fridge and reaching for the pitcher of water. “Sounds like a real cunt.” 

“Cunt?” Raedne tries out the word on her tongue, enunciating the 'c' and the 't' harshly.

“Don't call women that, Raedne.” Kate says over her shoulder at her. Then she thinks and amends. “Unless she tries to kill your queen. Then you can.”

Raedne nods, grateful, and says it again, “Cunt.”

Hippolyta makes a subtle face at the crude sounding word and Kate closes the fridge and turns back toward the glasses. 

“So, you kill Gudra, then some hundreds or thousands of years later or whatever, she, what, escapes the underworld?” 

“By way of Doom's Door, Kate,” Hippolyta says, gravely. “The door has opened and remains so as we speak.” 

For the first time since they'd met, Raedne's voice gains a rough knowing edge when she says, “And Themyscira falls.” 

Kate's head snapsd back to her. “Wait. What?” 

“The door remains open and every day more creatures flood our home. It is constant battle and little rest.” The nervous shadow of concern comes back to Hippolyta's eyes when she says this and the bristled energy around her returns. “Our people we left behind still defend our home.”

The glass Kate is holding slips from her hand and crashes to the tile below, cracking from bottom to rim, and spilling water everywhere.

“How long has it been open? How long have you been fighting?” she asks, trying to steady her voice and her hands. Don't jump to conclusions Kate. She's sure Diana had time to rest and recover some before all of this happened.

Raedne thinks on it for a minute and says, “Near two weeks passed one month now, is it?”

Kate's eyes widen. No. It can't be. She swallows hard, tries to contain herself in front of Hippolyta but all she wants to do is throw a chair, the coffee maker, anything in sight. Her voice struggles to come out loud enough for them to hear. 

“I sent her home,” she says, but it comes out cracked and weak. She tries again. “Diana. I sent her home three weeks ago. Right in the middle of all of that.”

She can't see the surprise and alarm on Hippolyta's face. She is too caught in her own emotions right now. She doubles backwards until the counter catches her and leans against it. 

Hippolyta asks, “Diana walks on Themyscira's soil?” 

“That's good then.” Raedne's voice sounds far away. “The princess'll clear it up then.”

Kate cannot hear anything they may say to this. She pushes herself off the counter and glares up at the ceiling, her fist shaking by her side. That damned crazy controlling wisdom god. How dare she. 

“You'd better show yourself right fucking now.” She is shouting and her voice rattles with outrage. “You knew what was happening there. You knew and you didn't tell me. You knew the state she was in and you still took her, still let me believe it was safer. Who the hell do you think you are?!”

“You are yelling at the air, Atea,” Raedne says but Kate ignores her, still glaring around for any sign of wind. 

“What state do you mean, Kate?” Hippolyta stands, a fear touching her eyes in a way that crushes Kate's heart. She comes to grab Kate's hand. “How was my daughter when you sent her away?”

The rage rolls through Kate and makes her shoulders shudder. She lowers her head and grits her teeth, fighting the angry tears blurring her vision. She can't contain the bitter bite in her words.

“She lost the Perfect, Hippolyta. It left her,” she says. “I've never seen her so broken. She needed to be home. She needed to be heal and I sent her straight into a goddamned battlefield.” 

There is no way Kate can describe the look on Hippolyta's face. Horrified is one way, but it doesn't encompass the terrible fear that grips Hippolyta now, the same fear that feeds Kate's outrage. Hippolyta is shaking her head and lowering her gaze. 

“What has happened to you, Diana?” 

“The gods happened to her.” Kate grits her teeth and says with words dripping with spite. “They took away everything that made her who she is. For a stupid trial that doesn't even matter. I'm going to beat the shit out her, that Athena. I'm gong to make her fix Diana.”

Behind them, Raedne says, “You cannot fight a god, Atea.” 

Kate almost sneers.

“Watch me.”

-

Kate has stolen away to the roof of her building to be alone, to be away from things that will too easily break in her hands. Her anger has not subsided but it's no longer fanned into flames that rage uncontrollably. She sits on the cold cement, jacket zipped all the way, and tries to figure out what to do next. The last chill wind of winter blows by and makes her shiver. 

Hippolyta finds her in the cold and takes a seat beside her. It seems amazons are still not as susceptible to temperature as she is because Hippolyta, still dressed in her light robes, doesn't seem to feel the cold. She draws her knees up like Kate's and lightly holds them with her arms, looking out into the Gotham night scape. 

“We both worry for Diana,” she says, “Can we not worry together?”

The thought finally strikes Kate and she immediately looks at Hippolyta. 

“Ah, crap. I'm sorry. I didn't even think. You must be worried about a lot more than I am. It's your people, your home, and Philippus. I'm so sorry, Hippolyta.”

“There is no need for apologies,” Hippolyta tells her a lot more calmly than Kate would have expected. “I am worried for all those you mentioned. I'm not sure in what condition she is in, but I draw comfort that I can still feel Philippus. When I pull on the bond, she responds.” 

It's such a curious thing to say and Kate doesn't understand. She says, “What do you mean you pull on it?” 

“I suppose it would make sense she has not told you this, having not experienced it herself.” Hippolyta gives a faint smile. “A pair bond is an actual binding, Kate Kane. It is a constant connection between you and your chosen heart. A pull feels like ...a sudden yearning that I know is not my own and it is strong enough to draw two together in that moment. I pulled on my bond with Philippus and she pulled back. This is how I know we still live in the same realm.”

“Is that why it's so damned hard to get pair bonded?” Kate asks, resting her chin against her right knee cap and looking at the guard on her left hand. The moon-mimicking silver finally catches real moonlight that makes it shimmer. 

“One of the reasons, yes.” Hippolyta nods. “It's not something easily understood unless experienced, but one still has to be sure. That is why the trials are so difficult. It is harder to break a bond than it is to make one.” 

“So how did you know you were sure about Philippus?” Kate asks her.

Hippolyta takes the time she needs to think and Kate lifts her eyes to the night sky. The lights of the city drown out the stars, but she can still see wisps of night clouds accented by moonlight. Kate watches her. She can see how the gods took her grace and the way she approaches life and gave it to Diana to nurture and grow. She doesn't know their timeline that well, but she knows Philippus was hers long before Diana came along. Maybe Philippus doesn't know it, but Kate does and so does Hippolyta. 

She can see it in the way Hippolyta's expression softens at the mention of her bonded partner. The gods took a little of Philippus, her resolute dedication, her unfaltering pursuit of honorable and right, and gifted it to Diana as well. Everyone says Diana is Hippolyta's daughter, but Kate knows that's not true. She is just as much Philippus' as she is Hipplolyta's and like any child of two, Diana is a blessed mix of both. 

“I believe I did not know until our trials were almost finished,” Hippolyta says, drawing in a breath and her crossed ankles closer to her. “When the prospect of it began to become real. One thinks she is sure, but once she is, she won't feel the need to question.”

Kate gives a small nod and downcasts her eyes, looking at the stone on the underside of her wrist. “I'm a little jealous of that. Knowing for sure on both your parts like that.”

“Do you doubt Diana or yourself?” 

The concern in Hippolyta's voice is touching and it makes Kate give a melancholic smile. 

“When I was a kid, it wasn't okay to be gay here. It wasn't like it is now. There was no public support or protection. So there I was, little Kate, spending every night thinking I was too broken for anyone to love,” she says, maneuvering her fingers and watching the detailed plating on her knuckles flex. “Add gay on top of that and it became impossible to believe. It still feels damn impossible.”

“Then there was Diana,” Hippolyta says gently.

“Yeah. Then there was someone who could love anyone, could be loved by anyone she chose, and somehow, for some reason I'll never know, she chose me. I just can't lose that, Hippolyta. I can't lose her. It's not my feelings I doubt.”

“Then it is Diana's?”

Kate closes the fingers of her hand and makes a loose fist, admiring how the intricate detailing almost flickers with the movement of the knuckle plating. She doesn't know how to answer the question honestly and fairly to both Diana and herself, so she chooses not to answer it at all. It's not Diana. It's never Diana, but there is still so much fear in her at how much it will hurt if or inevitably when she loses her. Life has ways of taking that have nothing to do with fading feelings. 

She wishes she could do something as simple as pull on a bond to learn if Diana is safe. It's the not knowing and the waiting to find out that eats at her. All Kate can do is repeat herself. 

“I can't lose her.” 

Hippolyta drapes a warm arm around her shoulders and draws her into an embrace. 

“Neither can I, Kate.” 

-

She stays on the roof long after Hippolyta returns below, tells her she'll be right down, but an hour passes without her moving. The scent of other worldly perfume wafts in the night air and the familiar light of Aphrodite's presence casts down on her. It turns all the hurt in Kate into anger once more and she raises her eyes to glare at her. Aphrodite wears the sweater Kate gave her, then crosses her legs beneath her and sits on air. She looks just as displeased as Kate feels.

“You could have told me what was happening,” Kate says. “You could have helped me help her. What kind of gods are you?”

Aphrodite's anger shows in a flare of light off her pale eyes and it makes the electricity of the faint safety lights around the roof flicker violently. Aphrodite leans forward and glares down right back at her. Her voice is stern and intimidating. 

“Diana's shine is nearly extinguished. If it disappears, she will never feel the same way about you again. Yours is too tarnished by your own hands to be the beacon she needs to return. Despite that, you sent her away. That is not our doing. That is yours.” 

Kate is seething with resentment. She is being blamed for making the best call based on what information she knew. They withheld vital facts and expected her to do what they wanted? She is being penalized for wanting to keep someone essential to her safe. All she has ever wanted to do was keep the people around her safe. It's one of the reasons she wanted to serve, one of the reasons why she took up this scarlet bat. It's what she does. It's who she is. Why is that always the wrong thing to do?

“What else could I have done?” she demands. “What should I have done to appease you?”

The way Aphrodite glares at her would have made any normal person shrink, but she is Katherine Kane, she is the unrelenting dawn, dammit, and she has never been afraid of gods. 

“I told you of a time she would need your love the most,” Aphrodite replies as a wind tosses her hair. “I foretold she would doubt her ability to love. That time has come now and you, Kate Kane, you are not with her. You tell me what else you could have done.”

Kate rips angry tears from her eyes and says, “You think I wanted to do that? You think that was easy for me? She needed to be home! She needed to be safe. I needed to keep her safe.” 

“And in choosing that first, you failed to keep her,” Aphrodite says. “Is that not the choice you have made over and over since we first met in the temple in the mountains? Is losing her not a price too high as well?”

“How can you, of all people, call it love when she can't be who she is with me? That's selfish. It's greedy. She's Wonder Woman. She's _supposed_ to be Wonder Woman. I couldn't let her throw that away.”

“That is the opposite of what Diana chooses for herself,” Aphrodite tells her and lowers until her bare feet touch the cement Kate sits. She kneels before her and reaches over to lift her face. “It is you _she_ chose, Katherine Kane, over us, over her gods, over everything else. It is you she always chooses time and time again and it is you who denies her that choice every time. How many times will you take the decision out of her hands?”

The words almost rip through Kate worse than any anger she holds against Athena. They leave her winded, blinking back tears. Just like that, Aphrodite has stolen her rage and leaves her without that armor. She's right. Diana told her what she needed. She said it to her face, but she didn't listen. She didn't listen to her. Kate tells herself that her first choice would always be to be with Diana, especially in the times she is needed, but she knows that's a lie. Her first choice will always be to keep her safe, especially from Kate herself. 

“What can I do?” she asks, but her voice is low and quiet. “How can I fix this?”

“The same thing I told you before. Love her,” Aphrodite says, sternly. “Love her even when it _hurts_ you, even when it _breaks_ you, even when you _cannot_ feel it returned, and do _not_ stop. Or her light will go out.” 

Kate lowers her head to her knees and says, “What if I'm not what she needs? What if I can't?”

The air softens, almost cradles, and the radiance Aphrodite brings with just her being almost soothes the prickles of fear and residual anger. When the goddess of love speaks again, her voice regains its tender melodic affection. Aphrodite reaches over and covers Kate in the warm light of her embrace.

“Oh, Kate who lives before morning. You are Diana's chosen heart,” she says. “You are the only one who can.” 

After a few even breathes, Kate nods and lifts her eyes upward to look at her. There is no longer sorrow or self-pity in her face. There is only determination. 

“Okay. Then take me to Themyscira.” 

 

Continued…

 

Next: Deflated, Defeated. Love is beautiful and rewarding, terrifying and maddening, empowering and inspiring, and destructive and cathartic. Diana sees all of its qualities come head to head on Themyscira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I just butchering DC’s amazons in this fic? I’m at the point where I feel like I am.


	13. Deflated, Defeated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has massive feels part 1

**Themyscira, one month ago**

Anaea remembers well what happened after the spear impaled her. She knows she saw Derinoe open the door, that there was an army of creatures waiting on the other side. The sheer number of them had horrified her. Derinoe was nearly trampled, kicked off to the side against the stone walls just before the door swung wide and hid her from view. Too many of them, too big, and with all of Themyscira unaware of them, she knew she had to get up off her knees, get up and fight. It was the worst pain she'd ever felt, pushing the spear through, and it made her drop back to her hands and knees before she could finish. 

The feet of the valkyrie were all she saw, coming to stand before her, and Anaea had looked up at her, grimacing. 

“She's already dead,” the valkyrie said to the woman who came up behind her and they both ascended the stairs.

Anaea had believed it then, but she is sure of it now. The valkyrie was speaking to Clete, her lost sister, or a phantom of her, one who gazed down at her bleeding out on the dirt with cold uncaring eyes. They took to the steps that led to the surface and Anaea collapsed forward, catching herself with a hand. It was Derinoe who knelt beside her.

“Derinoe, the spear. Help me push it-” Anaea stopped when she saw the maddening fear on her face.

“Clete, it was Clete, wasn't it? You saw her too?” Derinoe had asked, looking at her for confirmation, that she hadn't opened the door based on a delusion. Poor young Derinoe touched by madness needed something solid to believe in. 

Every unnecessary movement made the spear wobble and threw her entire midsection into agony, but Anaea reached up and placed a heavy hand on her young sister's shoulder and smiled at her through the blood. 

“Yes, Derinoe,” she'd told her, wincing. “You were right. It was Clete. She was on the other side knocking for you.” 

The relief and sense of ease that washed over Derinoe was immediate and soothed her madness. She nodded, placed her hand on Anaea's that still rested on her shoulder, and lowered her head.

“Thank you, sister. Thank you.” 

It was enough, Anaea had thought, to manage this much for her sister before Hermes came to herald her soul through the door to the underworld. If she could not battle for her home and for Orithia, she could at least comfort a sister who needed it. Her eyes began to blur from the pain and her hand slipped down her shoulder before Derinoe caught her, alarmed. She vaguely remembers Derinoe placing her arm around her shoulders and half dragging her up the steps with the spear head knocking against the walls and the steps. She blacked out before they reached sunlight.

Anaea awoke for sparse moments after that, barely aware of her surroundings. She remembers the sounds of war somewhere near and then a man whose skin shone like sunshine bent over her and offered his hand. Before she could reach up to take it, his name was called and he withdrew.

“Leave this one, Hermes.” 

Hermes straightened and crossed his arms. “I do not interfere with your job, Athena. Kindly allow me to do mine.” 

“You interfere by taking her prematurely. She is not yet dead and still belongs to me,” Athena said, stepping closer where Anaea could see her. “Hades can have her when her last breath leaves her.”

“She will die soon, what does an hour more matter?” Hermes asked her amicably, but stood from where he knelt. “If you insist on such compliance, then I can only oblige. I will return when her life expires.” 

Athena thanked him and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he patted with a smile and then was gone. Anaea struggled to get up, noticing now that the spear had been pulled from her body, and her head felt dizzy and light. 

“Do not move, daughter. You will only shorten the time we have,” Athena told her and the grass around her swayed as a new presence appeared beside them, one Anaea could feel resonated with her soul, so compatible and comforting. “You are under my protection, Anaea. I can leave my Sophrosyne to watch over you, to slow the blood from the wound, until the battle is ended and you are found.” 

Sophrosyne, a mute spirit, personified from Athena's own, Anaea thought. Of course. No wonder this comfort despite the pain was so familiar. It is everything she has ever strived for, to be as sound in mind as she is solid in soul, to forego extravagance for discipline. Athena took a knee beside her and held her gaze now. Her words were solemn and grave.

“It will hurt this much, however, and later even more. This battle will be long and lasting. Do you wish I leave Sophrosyne to tend you? Think hard on this, daughter, metal shaper, then give me your answer.”

It was difficult to rationalize to consider all options fairly. Anaea's first instinct was to decline. Every amazon dreams of a warrior's end and life on Themyscira, though blissful, is not one that frequently grants such an honor. She had been instructed to think, though, and through the pain, Anaea forced back that first instinct and stumbled along other avenues of thought. She thought of her workshop connected with Orithia's by the adjoining door and the soft smiles and looks they'd exchange through it. Then she thought only of Orithia. It was excruciating to have both her heart and her body writhe in anguish at the same time. 

“Or ...thia ...” she started and turned her head to spit the blood from her mouth. 

“You still want paradise with your chosen one. You choose to wait out the battle.” 

Anaea nodded. Her tongue would no longer shape words. 

“Then, if eternity with your Orithia is what you wish, brave Anaea, bear this unbearable wait as an amazon,” Athena told her standing from the ground. “You will spend every moment trapped in the process of dying until Themysicra is safe and through it all you will wish for Hermes to come. He will if you ask, but if you don't, Sophrosyne will keep him at bay. This is the trial assigned you, outside the confines of the agreement, and given at the discretion of Pallas Athena.” 

Anaea closed her eyes, and grimaced as another surge of pain seared her nerves. Her face struggled to remain neutral, stoic, and honorable when she nodded her head once more to accept. 

“Very well,” Athena said almost grimly. “I will see you at the end of this trial, daughter, however way it does end.” 

Then she was gone and all Anaea had left was the profound agony of dying and the overwhelming comfort of Sophrosyne's stability. Athena had been right. The battle had been long and her wait had been torture, and though she could feel Hermes linger on the edge of Athena's circle of safety, Anaea never called for him, choosing instead to pass out from the pain. 

Athena had been wrong about one thing. It was not eternity with Orithia that motivated Anaea. It was the promise of eternity for her. Orithia lost any chance of earning the Fields centuries ago, before she entered the tribe, and has been in formal atonement since. During her months of frozen dying, Anaea lost track of the days and every now and again, she saw a flash of a saffron cloak. Melinoe stalked her as she stalked Derinoe, called forth by Anaea's near delirium, and Hermes waited on the edges. Anaea was unworried of them or even for herself. She had been given a simple task. She was to wait. 

And so, she waited.

-

**Themyscira, now**

She has been fighting nonstop since the moment Athena brought her here. The days have blurred together and she is weary. Diana pulls her sword from the dead beast beneath her and gazes out into the battlefield that has become of her home. The sight makes her despair. Themyscira cries blood tears that leak into her soil. It has taken an agonizing few weeks to make it to the door and she was stopped frequently by more waves of foul creatures that tumbled out of it. Each inch closer has been hard earned, fiercely defended, and heartbreakingly surrendered if lost. Finally, Diana had managed to close the door and all that was left was to finish the creatures still outside. 

In the momentary quiet, she hears a soft crazed muttering somewhere nearby. Sandwiched between a fallen tree and a dead harpy, Derinoe is curled in on her self, distraught and chanting. Diana is quickly by her side, kneeling to look her in the eye. 

“Derinoe, sister,” she says, but she goes unnoticed.

“ _-ffron cloak..._ She appears in weird shapes and strange forms.” It's a hymn Diana hasn't heard in decades. “ _Oh goddess, oh queen of those below..._ ” 

It is the hymn of Melinoe. A wave of sympathy rushes through Diana as she gently places her hands on Derinoe's shoulders. It's the first time in what feels like years that Diana feels compassion this strongly and she savors the warmth of it. At last, great Pallas, here is a thread of something familiar, something more like myself. I only needed to be away from Gotham and Kate to find it again. 

“Oh, Derinoe,” she says, easing her to her feet, hoping her concern and love will reach her. “The lady of ghosts has fed upon your guilt and left you the gift of madness.” 

Suddenly, Derinoe looks at her, eyes wide, and there is a gleam of self-awareness and recognition. She grips Diana's arms tightly, terrified.

“Anaea! Our sister needs help, princess. I struck her down with my spear and I left her. Why did I leave her?” she says all the words rushing out at once. “Oh gods, forgive me, the door! We must get to the door.”

“It's all right, Derinoe. I have closed it.” Diana says, looking past her toward the gates that guard the stairs to the door and then places Derinoe's arm around her neck and starts their long trek back to the city, to the palace to see what else needs slaying. “Let's get you safe first and then we can ponder appropriate amends.” 

“It was Clete,” Derinoe says, hanging uncomfortably off her shoulder. “It was Clete knocking on the other side. I saw her, princess. She lives. I must tell Euryleia. I have to let her know.” 

“We'll look for Euryleia when we both have rested.” 

She carries Derinoe through the still battlefield, carefully side stepping bodies and debris. Diana's heart aches for Themyscira. She could have saved so many more if she had just been home. She could have protected it and her sisters if she hadn't been so eager to know the world outside. If she had only stayed...

They near the steps of the palace when Derinoe stops in her tracks, becoming dead weight on Diana's shoulder, and she sees how her face moves into shock and then joy and sorrow all at the same time. She follows her eyes forward. There before them a few steps above stands Clete, the one thought dead, still very much alive. Clete's eyes are cold and ancient, having seen handfuls of decades of longing and heartache pass by. Her face, still young and beautiful, carries the weight of that time and the thoughts that kept her occupied.

“Clete.” 

Derinoe says her name like it's too good to be true. Clete acknowledges her with glacial words and a half smile that holds no warmth.

“Hello, Derinoe,” she says, descending the last steps to the ground. “I have had a lot of time to think on what I would say to you should we ever meet again. I've settled on, 'It should have been you.'” 

Diana doesn't know the exact circumstances that led to Clete's death. It happened when she was away. By the time she had returned, the aftermath of it had died and the event slipped into the realm of impropriety, where things go when they are only talked about in hushed faceless whispers.

She is surprised when Derinoe pulls her arm free of her hold, looks Clete in the eye and says, “I know. I think so too.”

“I'm glad you agree,” Clete says and she pulls her sword from the scabbard on her back. “Let's make sure we get it right this time.” 

Derinoe makes no movement to defend herself and Diana steps in front of her. 

“Clete,” she says,“Sister. Please. I don't wish to fight you. I am tired of fighting.” 

“This does not concern you, princess. Derinoe and I have to make this right. She stole the time owed me and my heart. She took my Euryleia from me. She has to answer to that.” 

There is little left of the Clete Diana remembers, the haughty and proud amazon who thrilled in her accomplishments and the praise of others, who wanted little more than a true warrior's death. Diana sighs. It never ends. Wearily, she pulls her own sword from its scabbard, fixing her eyes on Clete.

“Then come and take her if you can.” 

Diana moves with the practiced motions of an amazon mixed with the natural grace of her mother. Clete's sword is reckless and angry, blowing all her angles, and expending too much energy. Her muscles have wasted from disuse and the power of her strikes is now pitiful, but she is angry and she moves with sheer desperation that makes her unpredictable. For now, Diana works defensively. She is tired of dipping her sword in blood. She is tired of red. 

None of them see Euryleia on the top steps, gaping in disbelief. Her Clete, alive and well, breathing. There are hot tears in her eyes when she shouts her name, running down the steps toward them. The sound of her voice catches Diana's ears and she pauses mid-swing to look at her. The sheer joy on Euryleia's face is near staggering. It's the first beautiful thing Diana has seen in weeks and it brings pinpricks of her old self to her memory, the version of her that was nourished by love like this. A remorse suddenly floods through her.

Clete's anger clouds all her senses. She doesn't hear her name on the voice of her love. All she sees is the opening left to her when Diana halts her blade and she takes it. Diana is almost too late sidestepping her sword. Then Clete gasps and her grip falters. Her sword drops to the ground. Euryleia screams. It is an awful cry of horror laced with the pang of a splintered heart as it shatters inside her. Derinoe pulls her sword from Clete's back, apologizing, crying, begging for forgiveness as she catches her before she hits the ground. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. She's the princess, Clete, our princess,” she says. “You can't-, not to the princess.” 

Clete hears none of it. She is already gone. Diana hears Euryleia once more. She has stopped in her tracks on the steps above, a look of such horror on her face. The love Diana heard in her voice and saw in her eyes is gone, replaced almost instantly by cold hatred, the very same Clete nurtured, for the same woman they both blamed. All because of love. It startles Diana. How easily their love flipped into something so ugly, how quickly they lost themselves in their pain. Had love always had so sinister an edge? Or is it more frightening because of how much closer she is to it now than she has ever been before?

Euryleia is on Derinoe before she can lay Clete's body down. Her eyes are predatory, mad. She picks up the abandoned sword her Clete once held and lunges forward, tip pointed to kill. Her voice comes out in barely coherent shrieks.

“No, not again, You can't take her again. You can't do this to me again.” 

The savagery in her attacks surprises Diana. With one swift motion of her hand, she grabs hold of Euryleia as she passes and yanks her off Derinoe. The sun glints off Euryleia's hand guard as she struggles against Diana's grasp and her nails catch Diana's neck and shred skin. The pain is sharp and sudden and Diana's grip loosens enough for Euryleia to rip free, dead eyes set on only one woman. Grimly, Derinoe stands ready with the same sword that killed Clete. Her expression is one of misery when her sword finds Euryleia and slices her through. 

Diana stumbles backward, holding the wound on her neck. Her blood is still fresh on Euryleia's fingers, dotting her golden hand guard. She catches sight of Clete's hand guard half buried beneath her. Love. That's what happened to them. Love did this to them. Love drove them crazy from loss and need. She looks at her own hand guard, once something that filled her with the substance of love. Now the sight of it only insights a raw panic and dread.

She doesn't want this. She never wanted this, any of this, this hurt and this pain, this corruption inside her that threatens to devour her whole. She rips her guard from her hand and lets it drop to the dirt below. 

She doesn't want it. She will never want it again. 

Still cradling Euryleia's body, Derinoe looks at Diana as her gold guard clatters against the ground, and through her tears, she protests, one more heartbreak cracking through in her voice.

“Oh, princess. You can't,” she says. “What of your heart? What of your Kate?” 

The name makes Diana's shoulders stiffen. Her eyes are full of hurt and anger when she looks down at Derinoe, still holding her hand to wound on her neck, and her voice is numb and unfeeling. 

“She is not mine, Derinoe,” she says. “You can have her.” 

-

Philippus has not set eyes on this face in almost a century, but she remembers every feature of it distinctly. Gudra's face was always slim and her eyes light like the sky. Her hair is the same rich golden she remembers, and her smile, the one she offers now, just like all the ones in her memory, is soft, approving, and affectionate. There was a time Philippus adored this face as she adored her sisters, when Gudra held a place in her heart. How could Philippus not have known what is so obvious now?

It makes her feel like a fool. She hadn't seen it at all. She hadn't noticed when Gudra's smile slipped from encouraging to loving, when the way she looked at her moved from admiration to desire. Hippolyta was right. Philippus has always been awful at love. If she had been more observant, maybe all of this could have been avoided.

She sits now in the empty throne room Gudra has claimed, tied down by the heavy manacles that once held Gudra in the underworld. Philippus can see the hatred almost emanate off her, almost viscous and tangible as Gudra makes her way to her, an almost convincing look of love on her face. She reaches over and touches Philippus' face, lifts her chin to look at her, and simply admires. 

“You are as lovely as I remember,” she says, fingering her soft hair. “My postulate, my Philippus.” 

“I am no longer your postulate, Gudra,” Philippus says, pulling her face from her hand, “and I have never been yours to claim.”

Gudra watches her for a moment in silence and the false face of love slips into a regret that surprises both of them. It is the first breath of sanity that has passed over her since her blood was first spilled on this soil. 

“But you could have been,” she says with a softness that matches the regret on her face. The moment of clarity is all but too brief though and both her voice and her face harden. “That thief queen, that wretched Hippolyta. I should have just killed her in her sleep.” 

The loud clanging from the chains echoes in the empty hall when Philippus moves, attempting to stand once more, but the chains are too heavy and she's forced to sit back down. She glares at the woman she once looked upon with so much respect.

“What did you do to the queen?” 

It's eerie how well Gudra can mimic innocence as she does now. She appears sincerely surprised at the cold way Philippus is with her, genuinely surprised at the accusation. Had she always hid behind that face that fools or is this something centuries of torment in the underworld creates? 

“I have done nothing to her. She has vanished,” she says. “If her body lies on the battlefield somewhere, it would not be because of my blade and I will hunt down whoever stole that right from me.” 

There is fire in her eyes as her wings flex and stretch. She is enjoying the feel of them again, of air between the feathers. Philippus only watches, trying to think of all the places Hippolyta could be. She's glad she has gone out of sight, glad she agrees that's the best decision. She is their queen and she must live.

“That's the measure of the woman you chose over me,” Gudra says. “Selfish. Arrogant. Self-concerned.” 

“There was never a choice. It has always been the queen to me and no one else,” Philippus tells her with a sigh that says she's tired of saying it.

With a grand sweep of her wings, Gudra lifts her chin and spies her. She says, “You wanted a queen. I can give you a queen, Philippus.”

Philippus looks at her incredulously and says, “You think it is her status that draws me? You have thought that this entire time?” 

“I think it is her status that first made your heart skip, that perhaps you first mistook that for something it was not,” Gudra tells her. She is frowning now. “Did you never see me? Was I so invisible to you?”

There is a moment of silence as Philippus looks at the woman who once meant so much to her. She sees the hurt her obliviousness caused and she feels ashamed. 

“No, Gudra, I never did. Not like that,” she tells her, bowing her head. “I'm sorry I caused you hurt, but that is all I can apologize for.”

Gudra's face almost twitches with the anger that writhes beneath her skin. Her sky eyes glint with a sheen of gold that threatens to over take. Her cheeks almost sallow, but she takes in a breath that flushes her face once more. 

“I don't want your apologies.” Her voice drips with a venom so hateful. “I want your heart to beat with mine and her heart to beat on a platter. That is all.” 

“What is it with you villainous warrior types? You really think trashing a girl's home and killing her partner is how you're going to win her over? ” Batwoman stands in the middle of the throne room and they both look her way. “I can't believe I'm listening to this. I can't believe you are listening to this, Philippus.” 

Philippus lifts an eyebrow and peers at her, almost recognizing her voice, but not able to place how or why yet. She says, still thinking carefully, “Observation before action, stranger.” 

Batwoman's lips twist in an exaggerated grimace as she says, “Ugh. Diana gets it from you then.”

The way Gudra glares at her is alarming and from deep at the back of her throat, a guttural inhuman growl rumbles from her chest. Philippus can see her fingers curl now, still bony and wasted beneath the perfect skin. Her voice crackles with hate. Beneath that beautiful face, the harpy still thrives. 

“Who. Are. You?”

“Batwoman. You're charmed, I'm sure, but let's skip the formalities.” She readjusts her gloves, ignoring the way Gudra's blue eyes pale with a yellow sheen. “Listen, I've had my fair share of unrequited. They're not worth the effort.” 

The arrow flies true, whizzing through the air passed Batwoman's ear and making the waves of red hair lift slightly with the breeze. Gudra narrows her eyes and knocks it away easily. 

“You think a single arrow is enough to kill me?” She is laughing, setting her gaze back on Batwoman and starting down the steps toward her. 

If Diana is swift and efficient, her mother is more so. She has made her way along the edge of the room without Gudra noticing, covering the last bit of distance when the arrow flew, with a sword drawn.

“No,” Batwoman shrugs and says, “but I think this might.” 

Gudra only has time to turn half way, only sees the sharp blue of Hippolyta's eyes as she dashes toward her, before her sword takes off her head. Her body slumps to the ground, immediately forgotten. Batwoman watches as Hippolyta frees Philippus from the rusted chains and embraces her. They exchange a flurry of half sentences and warm smiles. 

_Are you all right? Me? Are you? I worried of the things she did to you. I knew you were safe. I knew you would come._

Philippus holds her queen's face still with one palm and strokes her cheek with another, admiring the arch of her eyebrows and the curve of her lips. 

“It was difficult for me to send you away like that. I'm sorry. Forgive me.” Her words are warm whispers across Hippolyta's cheeks and she lays soft kisses on her eyelids. “I'm so glad you are safe.” 

“Shh, beloved. Hush now.” Hippolyta eyes close at the touch of her bonded one. “It was a necessary hurt for us both.”

Batwoman envies this moment between them, the love in their kiss and the humble gratitude when they embrace. She hopes the moment she sees Diana again will be like this, but part of her knows it won't. Raedne comes up beside her, slinging a bow behind her shoulders and considers the body on the ground. 

She points to it and says, “Cunt. Right?” 

“Right.” Batwoman grins and holds up her hand. Raedne gives her a soft high five. 

-

Hestia's hearth has become the site of a mini meltdown as the other three patrons of the amazons debate, discuss, accuse, and panic amongst each other. They have been watching the battle for Themyscira this long month, and in the past couple weeks, they have watched Diana lose herself more and more. Their Diana, their blessed babe, their daughter promised for great things, is deteriorating. She is so far removed from the best of herself and too lost to find her way back.

“Yes, I gave the amazon, Clete, the flame,” Hestia says calmly in the face of Artemis' accusations. “How was I to know that one flame could cause all this turmoil?”

Artemis points to the image of Diana's stunned and panicked face as she looks at the gold guard on her hand, and says, “It is not just Diana who is abused now, Hestia. It is all of them, all of Themyscira, all of our amazons. Your flame has brought ruin to them all.” 

Demeter intervenes, stepping in between them and leveling Artemis with a stern gaze. “Your anger is misplaced, Artemis. I am the one who told Persephone to shelter Clete. I am the one who asked Hestia provide the flame. Clete needed to be soul-locked between worlds or she threatened to unbalance it all.”

At this, Artemis draws in a breath, still fuming, but Demeter has always been one she could never direct her anger at. Demeter has always had a way with the wild nature inside Artemis, has always known in what brambles and vines inside she hides her different emotions from view, and she has always known how to draw out the ones she seeks. Artemis takes a seat with a huff.

“They are supposed to be our chosen. Is this how we treat those we call chosen?” she asks. “Are we really so surprised when they stop believing in us?”

Athena can feel the way Artemis' eyes fall on her, but she does not acknowledge it. Artemis has always been fiercely protective of their amazons, especially of Diana, but their youngest sister-goddess has the spirit of an untamed animal, one who watches but does not like to be seen. This is why Diana never knows just how much Artemis campaigns on her behalf.

“If you feel so badly, Artemis, take an inconspicuous form and go down to help,” Athena says. “That goes for all of you. There are still a few of Hades' sons still above ground.”

Aphrodite remains seated when she feels the three others take their leave. She continues watching Diana in silence beside Athena as she abandons her hand guard and leaves it behind. Aphrodite is wearing Kate's sweater because she can see the telltale signs of scandal in her sisters' eyes, even in Athena's passive glance of nonchalance.

She has always been the one of them most charmed by mortals and the strange lives they lead, but now there is one whose potential fascinates her, just as Diana's potential commands Athena's attention. Perhaps Aphrodite has found her own favored. 

“You are gambling dangerously now, Athena,” Aphrodite tells her quietly as they both watch Batwoman and Raedne making their way through the wreckage of the courtyard. “Diana is all but snuffed out. Soon there will be nothing left of her to save.”

“I am not trying to save her, Aphrodite.”

Aphrodite thinks on this for jut a moment before she says, “Do you hate that she loves that much? Are you punishing them both for daring to?” 

“You think so little of me.” Athena sits back in her chair. “You know as well as I do that Diana will not follow us now were we to retreat from this world. Kate Kane is the tie that will keep her here.”

“Is that so bad a thing?” 

“Of course not,” Athena says with a low even voice. “I will say it only once more, Aphrodite. Diana asked me to judge her worth, not her Kate's. How am I to judge her against a standard she is not like? You wish they choose love, but how can she choose love in the same manner her Kate does if she has never felt it in the same way, understanding how it is both constructive and destructive as a natural force in the short, limited life of a human mortal?”

Aphrodite is quiet as she thinks for a moment and then she turns to look at the image of Diana, walking away from her rejected hand guard. Her eyebrows furrow in thought. 

“You put her on even terms with Kate,” she says, finally. “And now they feel and love on the same level and in the same way.”

“Diana is now the closest to a human mortal she has ever been." Athena takes in an even breath. “Understanding love in the way she does now, does she choose Kate the same way Kate has chosen her? From here on, Aphrodite, we will see her worth or we will see her failure. Either way, Diana walks away from this forever changed.” 

Aphrodite says, “And if she fails?”

“Let us hope she doesn't.”

When they both return to silently watching, Athena changes the angles through which they can observe. At first, the angles she chooses often focus on nothing or no one. It takes her a few minutes, but Aphrodite finally sees what Athena's private goal has been all along. She has chosen wide angles of viewing that show a good deal of background. In almost every one of them, easily blending in the background violence, easy to miss entirely, there is the same woman, long since dead, but fighting beside the amazons with a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. 

The woman's name is Pallas and beneath the light of the sun and with the breeze in her hair, it almost looks as if she is still alive. It has been millennia since Aphrodite has watched Athena look upon her. She knows Athena is held to an old promise made with Hades. They leave each other's realms unblemished by their touch unless it is a reason they both would agree upon. Aphrodite almost smirks. Such as, she thinks, for example that is, an outbreak of Hades' sons onto Themyscira, one of Athena's sacred places. 

Athena's face does not betray any thoughts or feelings she may have, but Aphrodite rules over love and can see it clearly wherever it takes shape. She stretches, interlocking her fingers and reaching above her head. 

“It looks as though some ready souls lack a guide back below,” she says, keeping her eyes on the images before them. “Our sisters seem terribly busy helping the amazons end the fighting to serve as lead.” 

Through the short heavy silence that follows, Aphrodite waits for Athena to respond. It takes another few moments before Aphrodite hears the small sigh, resigning but appreciative. 

“I suppose I have no choice then.” 

Athena offers a simple thanks that Aphrodite dismisses with a disinterested hand and then she is gone. Aphrodite looks over her shoulder to see Artemis lingering in the shadow watching. She smiles at her and beckons her to approach with a hand. 

“Come watch with me, Artemis,” she says, drawing her beside her. 

“I think I have had my fill of watching today, Aphrodite,” Artemis tells her, but when Aphrodite does not withdraw her insisting hand, she makes her way over. 

“Humor me just a little longer then. First, I must check on the Dawn Bringer and our Diana who walks in your oncoming twilight,” Aphrodite tells her and with a hand wipes the images before them clear. She draws up fresh ones and settles Artemis beside her. “Then, I will show you a wound Athena has never allowed to heal.”

-

Raedne sees Derinoe before Batwoman does and takes off into a sprint without warning, leaving Batwoman to shout and give chase. They find her beneath a flowering tree, clutching on to the bodies of two amazons. Batwoman is almost touched by the concern in Raedne's voice when she drops to a knee beside Derinoe, how her hands that sometimes don't know their own strength, comes almost delicately to her sister's shoulder.

“Raedne,” Derinoe says in sad wonder at the friend she hasn't seen in almost a year. She indicates Euryleia in her lap and Clete's hand in her own. “I did this, Raedne. I did this to them.”

“Whatever you have done,” Raedne says softly. “You've made right by them, Derinoe. They journey to Elysian now, side by side again, as they should be.”

Derinoe weeps again beneath the gentle hand of her friend and it makes Batwoman feel bad for interrupting the moment. She pulls off her cowl and kneels beside them, offers a small smile when Derinoe's voice chokes at the sight of her, from grieving to dumbstruck in a matter of seconds. Kate would be flattered if they didn't stand in the ruins of Themyscira.

“Kate-, Diana's Kate Kane.”

“I'm glad to see you're okay, Derinoe,” she says. “Have you seen Diana? Do you know where I can find her?”

It takes time for Derinoe to find the words, but she points and says, “She was headed toward the square half an hour ago. If you run, Kate, you can catch her.” 

Kate thanks her, kisses her cheek, and then takes off running before Derinoe can gather herself from the kiss to point out the abandoned gold guard lying in the dirt ten feet away. 

The first time Derinoe saw the two of them together, they made her blush. Now, the thought of them, of the moment Kate catches up with their princess, makes her mourn. What has happened to them in this time apart? What has made their princess so callous at just the mention of Kate? 

“I am not sure she will want to see the princess right now,” she says, quietly, looking after where she last saw Kate before she disappeared down stone steps. 

“What do you mean?” Raedne asks, plopping down beside her crossed legged and eager to hear.

“Our princess, Raedne. She's not herself. Something is wrong.” 

Raedne shrugs off the words, unaffected by their somber meaning. She says, “Then Atea will fix it.” 

“You don't understand, sister. I have never seen unkindness in her before today.” Derinoe lowers her head. “but she was so uncaring...” 

“If the princess is unkind, then Atea will be kind,” Raedne says. “If the princess is uncaring, then Atea will care. Atea will match her whatever she needs.”

“We should go to them.” Derinoe begins to stand, but Raedne pulls her back down easily with one hand.

“Not yet,” she says. “It has been near a year. I want to sit with you and catch up.” 

Derinoe lets out an incredulous almost maddening laugh. She cannot believe her. How dare she not see what has happened all round them. The bitterness in her at this leaves a sour taste on her tongue, like stale nose blood.

“Raedne, the Saffron Cloaked Lady of Ghosts touched me with madness and I opened Doom's Door. That led to the ruin of Themyscira and the deaths of some of our sisters. I passed that same madness to two of them and both fell by the end of my sword.” She looks down at Euryleia's body in her lap and slowly grinds her teeth. “And you want to catch up?”

Raedne casts her eyes casually to the flowering blossom canopy above them and takes in a breath. She acknowledges Derinoe's words with a surprisingly sage nod. 

“Themyscira waits to be rebuilt and I have grand ideas. Our sisters, once separated and alone, are now together in paradise. Our queen and our general embrace once again in the throne room. Our princess is loved by Atea who does not relent. And I met my friends I have not seen in near a year's time.” She shrugs now and then lets her gaze fall to the ground. “I am not as clever as you, Derinoe, but to me, that's not half bad.” 

She pats Derinoe's back when she breaks down in tears again, enjoying the flowering trees and the company. To Raedne, there is still so much good. She will wrap the good she sees in soft rabbit furs and leave them at Derinoe's feet until she accepts them and they can sit side by side, enjoying them together once again.

“Pretty blossoms this year.”

It takes Derinoe a moment, but she finally lifts her gaze to the canopy of plum blossoms overhead, pale pink against the cloudless sky. Beautiful. She manages a nod and lets herself just be.

“Let's make blossom wine this year, Raedne.”

“That means we can drink some of last year's stores to make space, yes? Yes?” 

Derinoe chuckles quietly.

“If you'd like.” 

-

Diana stands on the beach, gazing out into the ocean. Her yearning for space and quiet is what brought her here. She wants solitude. Perhaps then no one can ask any more of her. When she reached the shore, however, the limitless blue of the ocean stopped her in her tracks. It's too wide, too vast. Unlike land, the ocean has no clearly marked paths or well traveled roads, no trees or buildings to mark where one is going and where one has been. The ocean has no past and its future is endless possibility stretching in all directions at once and limited only by one's vision. 

The sight of the cresting surf and the waves that reach hard for her feet fills her with remorse. She thinks of Clete and Euryleia and how quickly their love turned angry and bitter. Until now, she has never experienced that ugly side of love, but she recognizes the anger in her with herself and with Kate, and it scares her. 

She wanted to show Kate how deserving she was, but in the end, she couldn't. She failed her. She thinks of all the times Kate didn't want to need her, her lack of expectation in the beginning, the automatic assumption she is easily disposable, how quick she was to withdraw the courtship and nearly herself from the relationship in the face of Athena's price. 

Kate had refused to be needed and had refused to need her and now Diana's heart is too weary to keep trying. She doesn't know if she can. Everything inside her has been pillaged and she has nothing left to give. Love has devastated her.

This is when she hears her name behind her on the voice that both comforts and wounds far more than anything else in her life ever has. When she looks over her shoulder and sees Kate running toward her, she has to scold herself for the way her flatlining heart gives a telltale beat just at the sight of her. Diana is tired of fighting and Kate is just another thing she will have to fight.

“Diana,” Kate says when she nears, slowing to a stop. Her expression is an anxious mixed with a little relief. “You're all right.” 

“I am alive at least.” Diana lowers her head with weight she has never felt before now, spies little crabs burrowing in the sand by her feet. 

“I'm sorry, Diana,” Kate tells her. “I didn't listen. I'm sorry.” 

Sorry. She says she is sorry. Diana can't help the pitiful whisper of a laugh that never quite forms. Is that what she wants to hear right now? Does she even want an apology? She doesn't even know anymore. Nothing in her world is solid anymore. She had thought she had firm ground beneath her, but when she looked it was only ever changing waves, one unlike any that came before or after. There is no constant, no consistency anymore, no reference point for her to use to make sense of herself and who she is becoming. 

“Go home, Katherine Kane. You are not needed here,” she says and her voice is threadbare and empty. She starts to face the ocean again. “Themyscira is for amazons.” 

From the corner of her eye, she sees Kate yank her gloves off, discarding them somewhere uncared for, and she holds up her hand where Diana can see her silver guard. Her stare is unyielding. It makes Diana envious of its certainty.

Kate says, “You said this makes me an amazon now.” 

Diana stops midway in her turn and shuts her eyes for a minute, as if upset she has to point out something she feels is obvious. She lifts her corresponding hand where Kate can see it, naked and unarmored, the gold guard missing.

“Only if it has a partner.” 

She doesn't miss the hurt that flashes across Kate's face and draws some comfort in it. It's not that she wants to hurt her or that she wants Kate to hurt at all. It's only because hurting is lonely and it's nice to know she's not the only one.

“Diana, please.” 

Her voice pleads, but all Diana can feel is indignant that she, that anyone really, would have the gall to ask any more of her right now. Hasn't she done enough yet? What more could anyone ask of her? What more could anyone want? Why does this particular battle have to happen right here, right now? 

Kate tries again. “Can we talk?”

Diana is infuriated now and it burns away the fatigue with new energy fueled by cold antipathy. She is shaking again with all these thoughts and corresponding feelings. 

“You sent me away.” Every word is a pointed arrow of anger aimed at Kate. “When I needed you the most, Kate, when I told you I was scared, you had me whisked away. Am I so easily abandoned?” 

“That's not it at all,” Kate starts, but Diana continues. There is just too much to hold in now.

“Did you just not care how scared I was, how scared I still am that I can never be her again, the Wonder Woman you love so much?”

Diana is drowning in waves of anger fueled by shame and fear and every complex emotion she has not been allowed to feel since the last moment she saw Kate in the dark kitchen, still not recovered completely from the argument and the frantic sex that dismantled her. The after care had been so tender, so caring, but it hadn't been enough, not nearly enough to piece her back whole again before she was swept away into endless battle, desperately holding on to the loose ends of herself for fear she would lose them completely. 

She can't stand the very fact that it had been so easy for Kate to handle her, disarm her, how easily her autonomy had been ripped from her. She is angry that she couldn't stop it, that she should have been able to. She let herself be blindsided, caught unawares, without noticing how her voice had been taken away. This is what she feels now, forced to remember how humiliating it was to feel so small and that it had been Kate who had made her feel that way. 

“Is just Diana not enough?” She needs to know. “Am I not enough?” 

“Of course, you are. You're more than enough.” Kate has to shout, to match her voice, to even break through her own hurt that threatens to swallow her words before they're formed. “I just- I couldn't do it, all right? I couldn't risk losing you.”

“I would have chosen to stay beside you, fighting like an amazon. You, who I called my heart, my heart, Kate, whose side I promised to guard and to protect just as you promised the same of mine.” She glares through tears. “I would have been fine with that, to die as an amazon by your side.”

“I wouldn't have!” The fear in Kate's voice now is so sharp it halts any other words Diana had ready. “I would never be okay with that, Diana. I could never be okay with that.” 

Kate can't stop the thoughts now, horrible thoughts of having to watch her die, all because of a romanticized amazonian promise and it brings up intense feelings to stop them, to keep those thoughts from coming true. She knows its her own fear that wants Diana to recognize how impractical it is to needlessly die, but she forces her hands into tight fists and makes herself breathe, to stop her heart from hiding behind its brick wall. When the worst of the trembles leave her hands, she looks at Diana again and tries to start over.

“I just wanted to keep you, Diana. That's all. Keep you safe, keep you happy, cared for, unbroken, still alive, still a part of my life, still you.” Her voice loses its power with each word. She shuts her eyes, makes a face, and says, “Maybe it was selfish, but I know, based on what I knew at the time, I know I would make that same decision every time.”

There is an awful silence now as Diana looks at her in disbelief, thinking on the last words she just said and what they mean, what they mean for her. She doesn't understand how Kate can't see how much that one decision hurt her. Or maybe she knows and did it anyway. Diana doesn't have the energy to muster up concern anymore. Even her angry tears have dried up. There is nothing left in her to give. Just like that, the argument deflates and all she is able to do is stare.

“What use is it to keep someone,” she asks her, “if it is just to lose her another way?”

A fresh fear grips Kate. She can't believe what is happening between them right now, what has happened to Diana right in front of her eyes. How did they get here? She thinks of the love she saw between Hippolyta and Philippus when they were reunited, of the mutual trust despite the concerns, the way the entire room breathed easier when they were finally in each other's arms. She thinks of how much she wants that. She and Diana used to be like that, hadn't they? There had been a love like that between them.

Kate doesn't want to ask the question anymore than she wants to hear the answer, but she has to. They both need her to.

“What do you mean? What are you saying?” The last thing she wants to do is look at her, but she does anyway. This is an answer that should be received with dignity. “Have I lost you, Diana?”

Diana closes her eyes and fights to just breathe. She can't do this anymore. She gives up

“Even when I was Wonder Woman, you still never believed your worth to me,” she says. “I give you now what you wanted from the start. You've won. We are ended.”

She starts to turn to walk away. All she wants is quiet. She is sick with disappointment, in herself, in Kate, in her gods, in love, in everything she once believed. Her head is dizzy and she can feel both knees tremble. She's overexerted herself. It's only a matter of time before her legs give way.

It comes from behind her, shouted so loudly, and there is a faint scamper of feet behind her. It is another request of her, one more demand she is obligated to do for someone else. Does it ever end?

“Look me in the eye and tell me that. Tell me you don't love me to my face and I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again,” Kate shouts at her, covering half the distance between them. “Please, Diana. I need to hear you say it.” 

Diana stops. She lifts her head to look at her, the woman she called her heart, who she can remember loving so much even if she can't remember how to anymore.

She says, “I don't, Kate. I don't love you.”

It is in this moment, Diana of Themyscira learns how to lie. She had been wrong. There had been one last remnant of who she used to be still inside her, and now, that too shrivels and dies. She is without love, she is without truth, and now she knows for sure she will never find herself again. The realization hits her hard, terrifyingly certain, and takes with it everything she has left. 

She's done. She gives in and lets the fatigue take her.

Kate does not have time to react to the words. She has to cover the distance between them, has to be fast enough to make it in time. Diana, finally defeated, collapses where she stands, and Kate is there to catch her.

 

Continued…


	14. Differentiating Between Love and Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has massive feels part 2.

At the tail end of the battle, when Hestia and Demeter intervene to shepherd the last remaining creatures back through the doorway, Athena stands in the midst of the round up, staring at the back of a woman she has not seen since her own young and over-confident spear struck her down.

Pallas, her friend and namesake, having fought alongside the amazons, is now absorbed in the sky, shielding her eyes as she gazes up with a content smile. It makes the corners of Athena's lips lift slightly. Pallas has always been like this, always so interested in the world around her, not because she saw areas of opportunities like Athena, but because she enjoyed the simple fascination that came with observation and learning. It was one of the things Athena adores about her. 

Somehow, Pallas has always been able to make her stop, stop thinking, stop plotting and planning, and notice the wonders around her. She helped her to just enjoy sky above her, laughter on a breeze, even a battle laid out before her. Of course, it had been a moment Athena stopped thinking that her aim was too true and it slew the one soul who could have taught her to love. 

“Pallas.” 

Athena says her name with a voice she barely recognizes as her own, one full of hope and affection. When Pallas turns, she almost holds her breath. She is just as she remembers, bright-eyed and spirited, skin almost bronzed beneath the Themysciran sun, just like her father's and all those who belonged to the sea. Recognition sets her sea-foam eyes alight with something that can only be described as joy.

“Athena.” Her smile is so genuine it hurts. “Oh, I've missed you.” 

There have never been words that pierce Athena as utterly as these do. Pallas is the one who has to cover the distance between them and she draws her into an embrace. It lacks the warmth of life, but the cold is also welcoming and comforting. With head bowed and eyes closed, the Lady Wisdom lets herself be held, returning to a time when all she had to do was hold this woman's hand, learn, and grow. 

“I have missed you as well.”

She lingers only a few minutes more before she returns to being Athena Parthenon, custodian of wisdom, warfare, and crafts, understanding that these feelings within her now are outside of her reign. She pulls back and lets herself look at Pallas, daring to reach over and wipe a spot of blood from her cheek with a thumb. How youthful she still is, as beautiful now as she is in her memory, but her eyes are now learned and wise. What a scholar she would have made.

“I am sorry, Pallas. I have held such sorrow since that day,” she says, “I was too proud and not yet wise enough or skilled enough to save you.” 

Pallas' voice is as soft and affectionate as Athena's can be harsh and impressive. She is still smiling, reaching up to tuck strands of Athena's hair behind her ear and shakes her head lightly. 

“You were young. We both were,” she tells her. “I don't regret and neither should you. Athena, your sorrow breaks my heart.”

“Then I will mend it.” Athena cups her face gently and kisses her cheek. “You assisted my amazons in battle today. Wherever you go now, you carry my gratitude with you. For now at least, allow me to escort you.”

The blush creeps across Pallas' cheeks but neither acknowledge it. She covers the momentary fluster with a scowl Athena has not seen in ages.

“Eons have not dulled your sense of propriety, I see.”

“And it never shall,” Athena smiles and tells her as she takes a step back and offers her elbow. “You find it far too troublesome and I find that trouble much too agreeable.”

The wary way Pallas considers her and her offered limb is humorously exaggerated. She wraps her arm around Athena's elbow and then presses against her shoulder. Then Athena escorts her to Doom's Door and down the winding steps of falling dark. It is indescribable how nice it is to hear her voice, to be surrounded once more by her laughter. Pallas directs Athena's attention around the cavern at the bioluminescent fungi that cling impossibly to dark rock, casting the long stairwell into pale artificial moonlight. Of course, it would be Pallas who finds something beautiful hidden far below in the dank underworld. Until now, Athena hadn't known how much she misses this about her.

As she escorts Pallas, floating down the impossible drop and then past the judges who turn their faces away, Athena tells her of how the world has changed, of the great wars she has seen come and go, of how far mankind has advanced but still remains so far from their potential. She tells her of Diana and how she has suffered for this meeting between them. Who else but her favored would she entrust Themyscira to while the door remains open? Half-way around tartarus, Pallas stops their stroll to look at her perturbed.

“You make her suffer for your regret and risk her trust in you.” She chides. “If she is your favored, then treat your favored well. Make it right, Athena.”

It is the closest thing Athena has ever come to being scolded and she surrenders to it with a nod and the smallest indulgent smile. How different Athena's existence would have become had she lived. 

“I have been properly admonished,” she tells her.

At this, Pallas palms her cheek with a tenderness that startles her, but the affection in her smile tempers her reaction. The cool comfort of her palm holds her still. At the entrance of the Meadows, she insists they continue to the other side of it just to prolong the talk. 

Pallas shows her all the different flora and fauna she has studied and catalogued, citing key differences between the death cycle down here and the life cycle above. It's all too soon that Athena turns their attention to the edge of the Meadows where they have stopped, right on the banks of the Lethe River. Beyond it, lit in pale blue light and golden sky, the Elysian Fields beckon. She steps into the river and turns back when Pallas doesn't follow. 

Pallas remains on the river banks. Her voice is heavy with concern when she says, “My place is here in the Meadows.” 

Athena offers a smile.

“You need not worry. I have made a place for you to grow in happiness beneath the eternal gold. Please, allow me to show it to you.” 

“I cherish my memories, Athena.” Pallas shakes her head and says, unwavering, “Our days of youth are often what brings light to my heart down here. I will surrender them for no paradise.”

It's common knowledge that the Lady Wisdom's face never betrays the emotions within her. Now, however, her expression comes closest to pained since the day she lost the woman before her. 

“Then I will not make you bend to scoop the Lethe to your lips,” she says and her smile is seared on the edges by hot regret. “Will you at least share a drink with me on the other side where the view is most becoming?” 

She offers her hand to Pallas once more. After another moment, Pallas finally relents with a nod. Then, she steps into the water, slips her hand in Athena's, and they cross the surface of the water hand in hand. The eternal gold and blue of the Fields shimmers with clusters of soft transparent colors. Athena withdraws a wine flask from nowhere and two small humble glasses for the promised drink. 

She takes her time pouring, listening as Pallas tells her of how she filled her days with memories, mushrooms, and studying the physics of the Meadows. She tells her of what she's discovered about its ecosystem, its subterranean plant life, and what the physiology of the state of death is like in comparison to the state of life as it is in her memory.

Athena offers her one of the glasses, which she takes with a smile, excited to see how living drink interacts with her non-living existence.

“If you are so eager, dear Pallas, do not wait for me,” she tells her. “Go ahead and drink.”

She watches as her Pallas lifts the cup to her lips, eyes bright with curiosity, and drinks. The smile on her face fades when she sees her swallow. 

“Athena, this is not wi-.” 

Pallas looks at her confused and then all the recognition in her eyes visibly drains. Athena's breath catches at the back of her throat when Pallas, flustered, quickly notes her as a stranger and then looks around, fretting, before noticing the empty cup in her hand.

“This seems to be yours,” she says, awkwardly handing her back the cup and apologizing with a flushed face. “Forgive me. I would hope I'm not the sort to so soon forget why I would be standing in the river with someone so lovely, but it seems I am. Was I helping you?”

“Yes, young scholar, and you forever have my gratitude. The task is complete,” Athena says with all the love inside her. She indicates the Fields with a nod. “You should hurry back now. I fear I have kept you far too long.” 

Pallas glances over her shoulder at the Fields and then remembers something important. She turns back to Athena and gives her a smile so dazzling it breaks her heart. With a polite thank you and goodbye, Pallas turns on her heel and quickly makes her way up the banks of the Lethe. Athena tilts the flask and lets the water inside return to its river home below. Then she watches Pallas disappear in soft blue light and golden sky. 

Athena stands still and lets herself feel.

-

Warmed by Hestia's hearth, Artemis watches Athena in this precious moment. How warm she was with Pallas, the way she admired and adored her. Who is this Pallas and what had she been to Athena? What is she to her still? Artemis looks at Aphrodite, still sorting through a tangle of emotions. She is both baffled and surprisingly touched. 

“Pallas perished before you and your brother were birthed and not many on Olympus remember her or what she could have been to Athena,” Aphrodite explains, lifting a hand and wiping the image clear.

“What could she have been to her?” Artemis asks. “The loss of one person is sad, but how can one person make so big a difference?”

The small chuckle that escapes Aphrodite's lips is a mix of slight amusement and mild disappointment. She flips her light hair over her shoulder and shakes her head and brings up another image of Kate and Diana on the beach so she can monitor while she speaks.

“We all have certain souls whose presence is required to push our hearts to grow. Some have many. Others have few. Suppose one who already has so few loses their one most vital at too young an age. How stunted do you think that heart may be?” 

Artemis frowns to herself and then drops to a hunter's crouch to think, the flickering glow of the fire making shadows dance across her face. 

“Her heart is not stunted to me, Aphrodite. It's hidden,” she says after a moment. “Hearts are wild. They don't follow strategy or reason and Athena is no hunter. She cannot track it.” 

At this, Aphrodite offers a soft smile, and takes a seat beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She says, “Maybe you are right, little hunter.”

She turns her attention back to Kate and Diana. The tense air between them immediately concerns her and her voice trails. How bright Kate has become since their roof talk, how determined she is to be the beacon Diana needs to find her way, but Diana ...oh, Diana. 

She pauses her conversation with Artemis to give the image her full attention. Diana shouts, shakes, and cries and then turns and tries to leave. Both Aphrodite and Artemis immediately silence the rest of the room to hear the last bit of their exchanges. Then, with just a few words from Diana, Kate's light goes out and twilight overtakes Diana. 

The sight almost makes Aphrodite jump. How lucky they are that Diana's knees give way at this exact moment, how lucky they are they are both forced to feel concern before an irreparable hurt manifested. When Kate catches her, she strikes a match. It is feeble and fleeting, but it is still a flame, precious and brave, and capable of relighting that which once went out. 

-

**Gotham Museum of Art and Art History  
Years Ago**

They were attending an art exhibit the first time Diana said it in person. It was one hot August afternoon and they were walking through the show arm in arm along a wall of glass windows that looked out into the well-maintained property. Small water spouts sprayed water in arcs along the service to move and circulate. 

Batwoman had had a long night before and her body was paying the price. Kate is like her cousin, though. She never shows how much her body hurts in public. Other than the fact that she likes them anyway, it was one of the reasons she wore suits with long sleeved button downs sometimes, to let the bruises heal in privacy. Diana knew too well the exact shade of purple her ribs were, knew how lucky she was none of them cracked, and how much pain she was in. 

This is why when Kate winced in front of a beautiful mezzotint of a waterfall, Diana was immediately concerned. She placed an arm around her and steadied her as she breathed through the flare of pain. 

“Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?” 

Kate shook her head and placed a hand gentle on her forearm. Then with one last exhale straightened up as if nothing had happened. 

“I'm fine. Just took in too big a breath, I guess.” She gave Diana a grin. “Who'd have thought just breathing could hurt so much, huh?”

Diana wasn't tricked by the deflection. She continued to look at her concerned, wanting an answer she knew for certain was serious. It must have charmed Kate because her expression softened and she took her hand. 

“Really, Diana,” she insisted. “I'm okay. I'm not dead yet.”

It's not that Diana didn't know how much more Kate's body paid than hers did to continue fighting. It was only that this was the first time she really considered her mortality and she found it a thought she wasn't ready to have. With soft fingers on the other side of Kate's jaw, Diana leaned to kiss her. 

“What was that for?” Kate asked her. 

Diana studied her face, fingers lightly stroking the side of her face. She didn't care about the other people walking the space around them or about the man-made pond beside them. The natural light was flattering on Kate, her eyes a brighter green than normal. It was moments like this she wished Kate could see herself through her eyes.

“I love you, Kate,” she said. “I wanted you to know.”

Kate stared at her. She blinked, looked surprised, and then her cheeks flushed red before she smiled. She was so stupidly happy. 

“Good then, we match,” she said, “because I love the shit out of you too.”

-

**What remains of Themyscira, now**

Diana didn't awaken for a few days, but when she did, Kate hesitated to go see her. Even though she knows better, she doesn't want to leave without giving them both a chance for closure, but she can't think up the words that need saying. She's spent the last two days lost in only two memories. They play in her mind on loop, both the moment Diana first told her she loved her and the moment she told her she didn't. Kate's lost her. Diana doesn't love her anymore. 

Kate had always prepared herself for this, to make it hurt a little less, but she hadn't expected the level of devastation it brings. It only reinforces that fear buried so deep in her, she often forgets where. It's the fear that whispers in her soul that she is unlovable, that she doesn't deserve it anyway, that she never deserved it in the first place. It's like a venom she cannot be rid of, that finds its way to the heart of everything she cherishes and poisons it. It's how Kate knows she ruins everything she touches. It's how she knows she's ruined Diana. She never should have let it get this far, but she had been selfish. For once, she just wanted to enjoy it.

She punches a tree and it shakes all the way up to its branches and rattles the leaves, shedding seeds that spin their way down around her, bouncing off Raedne's shoulders as she approaches. Kate looks up at her and then turns to lean back against the tree, sliding to the ground. 

“Have you scared the tree enough to talk now?” Raedne asks her, looking at down at her.

“Couldn't give two shits about a tree right now. Don't even think I have anymore shits to give,” Kate says. “It's over, Diana and me. We're over.”

Raedne looks at her completely lost, raising an eyebrow as she crosses her arms and ticks the seconds with a finger.

“And?”

“What do you mean 'and'? What part of 'it's over' is confusing for you?” Kate asks, her anger slipping into her voice. Anger is familiar, something she knows how to handle. “It's done, we're finished, she broke up with me, I've been dumped, we are no longer courted, or whatever you amazons say. How else should I say this?”

“And when will you be not over again?” Raedne asks her, taking a seat on the grass beside her. “When will you be courted again?”

“Haven't you been paying attention?”

Kate doesn't know if she can humor Raedne right now. She feels almost as weary as Diana looked to her. Her chest tightens and her breathing shortens and she can feel the small bud of panic threatening to blossom, pushing against the walls that protect her. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe through it, just as she's practiced. Breathe and stay calm.

“Your princess is different now,” she says, forcing her voice even. “We broke her, your gods and me. There's no fixing her. There's no fixing us.” 

“Why do you give up so easily?” Raedne frowns. “All things can be fixed.”

“Not when there aren't any pieces of her left. Not when she's lost everything.”

Raedne is shaking her head now and sits up straighter. “What does any of that have to do with you?”

Kate gives her a look and says, “It has everything to do with me.”

She can't handle this right now, can't see the humor or the charm in Raedne's clueless self. Every thing Kate has to explain to her makes it all the more real, a truth she cannot hide from. Diana doesn't love her anymore. She couldn't give her back her shine and now she no longer loves her. 

“It means that I'm no good,” Kate says, shutting her eyes tightly to contain the conflicting emotions inside her. “It means not even Diana can love me. _Diana._ I don't fix things, Raedne. I break them. Things come apart when I touch them.”

Raedne picks up one of the fallen seeds and throw it at her, bouncing it off the top of her head. When Kate looks at her, she glares with unforgiving eyes. 

“What is this pig slop in your mouth now?” she asks her with a voice that matches her eyes. “Which do you worry for now, you or the princess? Decide now, Kate Kane. Whose broken will you fix first, yours or the princess'?”

Her name sounds foreign in her voice. Kate doesn't think she's heard her say it since the first day they met and she's surprised how much it stings to hear her use it now. So, she's lost that too. Atea is gone and all that is left is Kate, driving home the fact that she is, in fact, not amazon. Kate sighs, running her hand through her hair. 

“Raedne, I told you-.”

Raedne stands abruptly and cuts her words short. She steps closer to Kate, blocking the sun and towering over her. She peers down as if spying a little spider who has wandered into the wrong home. She has never looked more disappointed or disapproving of Kate than she does in this moment. Her voice is loud and explosive, almost intimidating.

“And I told you to FIX IT,” she says and her voice is sharp and severe. “If it is the princess _you_ love and the princess _you_ broke, then it will be the princess _you_ build again. If you have no parts, find new parts. If you have no blueprint, make a new one. If she does not have love, give her yours.You are the unrelenting dawn! The morning that never breaks! If the princess has lost everything, then make her _un_ lose you.”

Kate stares up at her in a few seconds of silence. Her eyes fall away and shut tightly. She can't do it. She can't see the good Raedne sees like she could before. It's time she woke up and acknowledged they were an ideal that should never have started. 

“I need you to walk away right now,” Kate tells her with a low, almost threatening voice.

Raedne doesn't move for a moment and Kate can feel the milliseconds like hours while the hot steam inside her builds. Finally, Raedne takes a small step back.

“If you are amazon, then be amazon and earn your name,” she tells her. “If you are not, take that off your hand and leave.” 

As Raedne walks away, Kate holds out her hand and looks at the silver guard she still wears. She'd almost forgotten about it, had worn it every day since the moment Diana put it on her. The thought of removing it is the one thing that ends her completely. She lowers her head and lets herself cry.

-

Derinoe is hesitant to approach Orithia when she sees her making her way through the ruin of the courtyard, bending to examine every fallen sister she sees. After what happened with Clete and Euryleia, she isn't sure how well this talk will go, but she is too good and too guilty a soul to not have it. With soft footsteps, she makes her way to stand behind her and clears her throat. 

“Orithia, sister,” she says, her voice awfully low, but refuses to let it retreat back into her chest when Orithia turns to look at her.

“Derinoe, you are all right,” she says, genuinely grateful to see her and gives her a light hug. “We all worried after the four sentries most, but look at you, alive thank Hera, and well enough to stand. ” 

With her head lowered and her eyes downcast, Derinoe says, “I need to tell you of your Anaea. Of her last moments.” 

At these words, Orithia's smile fades. She gives a nod, but she is, as she always is, soft and graceful when she leads them to sit on a fallen stone column. She holds Derinoe's hand and listens to the story of the knocking and the taunts of the Saffron-Cloaked Lady, to Clete begging on the other side.

“It was me. I struck her down,” Derinoe says, gripping Orithia's hand tightly in her own. “I wish I could say my eyes were tricksters, that she looked a monster I had to slay, but I can't. It was like I could not care.” 

Derinoe stiffens when she feels Orithia's hand stroke her short cropped hair, freezes when she hears her say, “You were touched by Melinoe's madness, Derinoe. Of course you couldn't.”

“No, you don't understand. I saw her face. I saw her surprise. I knew what was happening. I still ran her through with my spear. Just as my sword found Clete and Euryleia. Then I abandoned her. You can't understand. I don't.”

She expects anger, words if not fists, designed to dispel grief. What Derinoe does not expect is for Orithia to pull her into her arms or the tender voice she uses to soothe her. 

“I do understand, Derinoe. It was frightening, wasn't it? To be so removed you feel nothing as you watch your weapon do unspeakable things to those you would never harm. To not be yourself but hold the memories as if you were. I do understand that at least,” Orithia tells her softly. “If you have come to justify your guilt with anger, you will not find it with me.” 

“I'm sorry, Orithia. All I ever do is keep people apart.” 

“That is not true, sister.” Orithia holds her tighter. “Thank you for letting me be proud of Anaea and for sharing her last breaths with me.” 

Derinoe doesn't cry as she might have with someone else. Instead, she feels a welcoming calm, a camaraderie of guilt and understanding. In Orithia's arms, she feels forgiveness, and for once, she doesn't feel that she doesn't deserve it. Maybe forgiveness for her is all right.

-

Diana admires the craftsmanship of the spears as she walks amongst their rows in the armory. When she was a child, she drew comfort in the weapons and the armor, the smell of leather and the hard cold of a blade. She saw all of the amazons around her, training every day, guarding the door, and fighting anything that dare come through and she'd thought to herself, one day I will do that too. I will be able to fight anything, even the things weapons cannot slay. There is nothing in this world for me to fear.

Except now there is. How do you fight nothingness? Especially the nothingness found inside yourself? 

She catches her reflection in a battle scarred shield, dinged and scratched, but polished and still sturdy She barely recognizes herself. How pale she looks, worn. She looks how she feels; beaten. Everything in her body aches and her muscles protest every move. Dark bruises have formed on her thigh and arm, blues and greens swallowed by angry purple. It hurts to even breathe. This must be how Kate feels nearly all the time.

The color of the sleeve catches her eye and she spots the gray sweater, the one Kate had so tenderly helped pull over her head, gently guiding her arms in the sleeves. Diana bends to pick it up, tracing her fingers over the faded lettering, remembering soft kisses and laughter and the padded thuds of their bare feet on the wood flooring, chasing. Or being chased? She doesn't remember, only that it ended in the shower beneath the hot spray of water where the cold tile against Kate's back almost made her shiver.

The scent of olives wafts in the air before the unnatural breeze gently paws at her hair. She knows she should greet, but instead, she claims her time, trying to fill the gap of the memory and not succeeding. Diana almost crumples with irritation, takes in a breath, then she turns and bows, more obligatory than sincere. 

“My Lady Wisdom,” she says, trying to suppress the flame of bitterness in her voice. “What do you need of me now?”

Athena doesn't answer. She lets the silence between them linger and then her voice comes softer than she has ever heard, but the Lady Wisdom feels distant and unfathomable. 

“I need nothing of you, Diana,” she says. “I require nothing more of you.”

The bitterness in Diana begins to subside as she lets her guard down. Then she realizes that she even had it up at all. She had been guarded against Athena. Diana almost staggers backward. 

“Am I without trust as well?” she asks herself, appalled. “I am without the Perfect and without your gifts. I am without love and compassion and no longer bound to truth. Is this why you require nothing now? You have no use of me anymore?” 

“You ask a question framed in frailty,” Athena tells her, sympathetic and chastising, “one that already assumes defeat.”

Diana lowers her head. Her hands grip the sweater tightly and there is the faintest lingering scent of Kate's lavender. 

“I have failed you. I have failed my trial,” Diana leans over and covers her face with her hands, ashamed. “I have failed myself and I have failed Kate.”

“How limited your view is now that you are not privy to my wisdom, Diana.” Athena says and then she does something she has never done before. She gently removes Diana's hands from her face. “You see failure where there is only a journey unfinished. You look through dusty windows and say the fog is too thick to find home again.”

The words wound Diana more than she wants them to. There was a time she would have drawn comfort in these metaphors, understood without question what Athena was saying, but now, she finds herself almost restless at the lack of clarity. She wants just one thing, one certainty, something to hold on to. Could Athena not afford her this one thing?

“I don't much like the person I am becoming, Pallas,” she says.

“Then Diana, pride of Themyscira,” Athena says, “become someone else instead.” 

Diana feels a rising offense at this. She wants herself back, the purpose she knew, the life she'd had, the love she'd known. She wants all of it back, because this new life she can see cresting on the horizon is cold and unfamiliar. 

She understands how quickly Kate is to rile now and how much self-awareness and control she must have to keep it contained. If anger is a struggle the whole of humanity collectively experiences, why is she expected not to? If love is a common desire of all souls, then why is hers punished? Is this the cost she must pay to carry this pride? To be favored by Athena? 

Diana allows herself now to be angry at her patrons, at the world, at everything. She allows herself to understand how easy it is to not forgive. 

“I am no longer the pride of Themyscira, Athena,” she says and dares to turn her back on her patron. “And I do not wish to be your favored either.” 

Without permission and without looking back, Diana leaves the armory, sweater still clutched in her hands, and Athena watches as the last bastion inside her finally crumbles. There is nothing left of the gods in her now, not even the will to serve them, for even that is now something Diana must choose. Diana is now, truly on her own, and she understands she can rely only on her own thoughts, her own sensibilities, and her own emotions. 

Moving forward, Athena cannot afford to miss any decision she makes now. Diana's trial has finally begun.

-

Kate has decided to leave. Raedne has a point. Diana has made it very clear that she is not an amazon. There is no reason for her to linger here anymore. She picks her way through the crumbled gates of the palace and walks the familiar hallways to the throne room where she was told the queen and her general were holding council.

The heavy door is still partially opened and Kate pushes it further and slides inside. The council must have adjourned for there is only Hippolyta and Philippus now, sharing a quiet, intimate moment with their foreheads resting against each other's. She tries to slip back through the door unnoticed, but stops when Hippolyta calls her name, the new one that is no longer hers. 

“Kate of the dawn,” Hippolyta asks and she looks as uncertain as Kate feels. “Have you been to see Diana since she awakened?” 

Kate shakes her head, shrugs, and then says, “No, not yet. I wouldn't know what to say that won't make things worse anyway.”

Philippus steps toward her and with a warm hand on her shoulder, leads her further into the room where Hippolyta stands, looking at her concerned. 

“Diana grows silent at the mention of you and you cannot find words to tell her,” Philippus says and the concern in her is heartwarming. “What has happened between you two?”

With a small shrug of forced nonchalance, trying to brush it off like the pieces of her aren't kicking around inside, Kate says, “She fell out of love. It happens.” 

At this, she notices the odd expression on Hippolyta's face and she exchanges a glance with her Philippus, as if to confirm she heard that correctly. 

“Diana has done nothing of the sort.” Hippolyta grips Kate by the shoulders, firmly and holds her attention. “Where did you hear such a thing?” 

“Straight from the source. She told me herself.” Kate gently steps from Hippolyta's grasp and lifts her left hand. “I wanted to return this before I left. It's an amazon thing and I'm not amazon, so, it didn't feel right to keep it.”

Slowly, she turns her hand over and attempts to undo the latch at her wrist when Hippolyta places a hand over hers to still it. She draws Kate into her arms and holds her close. 

“I don't know how she convinced you of this, but her words and her actions speak different stories,” Hippolyta says, gently withdrawing her arms to look at her.

Kate stiffens beneath Hippolyta's warm hands and says, “Diana doesn't lie.” 

Philippus folds her arms across her chest with a stern expression and says, “She also has never let her pride withhold forgiveness. She has done both to you now.”

Kate can feel a dangerous hope and a horrible worry rising inside her and she shoves them back down and says, “Look, I appreciate both of your concern. I know she loves me. She's just no longer in love with me and that's okay. Really. She was always free to do that. I was prepared for it. It's fine.”

The way Hippolyta looks at her is almost crushing, a mix of disappointment and pity with a chaser of mild offense. How can you abandon her, it says, when she desperately needs someone? Kate looks away, fighting the annoying prickles of shame that threaten to fall from her eyes. Hippolyta's words are softened with compassion. 

“Oh, Kate,” she says and cups her cheek, making her lift her head. “This is what you meant when you said you doubted. You are still the little girl you told me of, convincing herself she's too difficult to love.”

The shame now falls and nothing can contain it. Kate has no choice but to let it seep from her heart one tear at a time. Goddammit. She really hasn't changed, has she? She hasn't grown since then. She is still the same mistrustful person, constantly waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under her. 

Philippus steps forward from behind Hippolyta where Kate can see her and crosses her arms. 

“I have seen many covet Diana, and some of them have been lucky enough to catch her attention, but I have never seen Diana covet, not until you. I have never seen her weep as she did today when she awoke and then remembered she was here and not in this Gotham place with you. Now you look me in the eye, Kate Kane, and tell me she is not in love.” 

She can't. Kate can't get the words to form. She can only remember that first night after the trials were given. Diana had been gripped by vivid dreams that made her move in her sleep something she never did and it had scared Kate. She remembers holding her tight to try to still her. She remembers Diana asking for her, where she was, had she left her? Would she come back? She remembers even before, the horrible fear she saw on her face when Kate tried to end things between them at Athena's scrutiny. 

She remembers how offended Diana was that reporter dared intimate they were ill-suited. Back before that even, Kate remembers all the times she had prematurely assumed their end, or as she did in the very beginning, questioned Diana's interest in her at all. Kate remembers all of this and she finally understands. Diana has been chasing after her from the start, because she wanted to, because she saw her and her poison, because she loved her anyway.

Kate's eyes fall away from Philippus and she knits her eyebrows together as Raedne's words come back to her. Be an amazon. Earn it. Make Diana unlose you. Make her see she has not lost everything, that she will never lose everything, because Kate is here. She is still here. She will always be here. 

She is Katherine mother fucking Kane of the goddamned Unrelenting Dawn, dammit, and she still has love to give.

-

**Gotham, when they were happy**

Imagine, Kate would say when people asked how they'd started, in an ancient Bed and Breakfast as old as the state of Louisiana itself, on a dying mattress that squeaked with every movement, the two of them trying not to rattle the headboard against the wall too much the first time they made love beneath a portrait of an old man. Everyone would laugh, they always did, because none of them could imagine it at all. 

“Neither can I,” she'd say and laugh with them, “and I was there.” 

The first time Kate told the story in front of her, Diana was almost scandalized by private details made public. By now, however, she has heard it so many times, has seen so many people react to it, she knows no one believes her. She knows now it is exactly what Kate wants them to do. When they insisted on the real story, and they always do, Kate always shrugged her shoulders and gave a non-answer. 

“We happened like any other couple happens, with a little luck, good timing, and a lot of liquor.” 

The truth is, it was in an aging Bed and Breakfast in Louisiana, there had been no alcohol involved, and the mattress did squeak, the bedpost did bang, and there was a painting of an old man. And it had been so terribly intimate and moving. Kate had cried before it and after it, so humbled, so grateful, it left Diana breathless.

Here was another face of Kate she showed to no one, privately displayed for her and only her. It must have taken so much trust to let herself be vulnerable, to ask that Diana love her so earnestly, to even ask at all, and then to allow herself to receive it. Those were the things about Kate that made her fall in love and those are things, Diana would later learn, that are the most difficult for Kate.

The times Kate told the story of their first night together, her audience would sometimes ask how much booze it takes to get Wonder Woman in the sack. It varied who they ask. Sometimes they asked Kate. Sometimes they asked Diana. Regardless, Kate always answered. 

“Three gin and tonics and two bottles of wine and suddenly, I'm Helen of mother fucking Troy in her eyes.” 

After a while, Diana started intervening at this point. The first time she did was at a Kane family gathering, while Kate was entertaining a small group of family friends sitting on white lounging chairs set up outside along the edge of a swimming pool.

Diana perched on the wooden armrest. She leaned over, kissed Kate's temple, and said, “Helen required four bottles. Between the two of us, however, I believe you were the cheaper conquest.”

Kate feigned offense. “Diana, babe, have you been paying attention to who you're dating?”

“Kate, lovely,” Diana said mimicking her tone almost too well. “All you required to come to my bed were three pancakes and a peek at my Wonder Woman armor.”

The audience had laughed. Kate had gaped at her, completely amused and absolutely in love. Diana remembers gently taking hold of her chin and leaning down to kiss her. She does not remember how scandalized or captivated their audience was when she did so. She had never thought that perhaps it was not just Kate's charisma they enjoyed, that it was the both of them interacting together, a curious improbability that suddenly, somehow, now made so much sense. Diana saw none of this then. She only saw Kate. 

Once upon a time, Kate in love was so stunning to her that when she looked at her like this, Diana's only compulsion was to answer it. 

 

Continued…


	15. The Dawn Bringer

Anaea can hear footsteps and voices. When she opens her eyes, Sophrosyne has gone, taking Athena's protection with it. Melinoe creeps through the thicket even closer. Anaea gathers her rusted voice and shouts. The blood is flowing again and her head grows dizzy quickly and she is so tired. All she can manage is one more shout, not even words, just a noise as loud as she can. The footsteps and voices are hurried now and she knows they are close. When she sees them in view, she smiles and shuts her eyes. 

“Get Althea! Where's Orithia? Tell her we found her! We found Anaea!”

She doesn't know who scoops her up from the ground, only that she is carried, jostling as they run with her in their arms. The position and the movement makes the pain surge and she passes out. There's just darkness now, not even pain, no glow of winged golden sandals. She thinks she hears Orithia, her Orithia, who she has not seen in ten months time. Maybe the Saffron Cloaked lady claimed her. 

Anaea wakes up in an empty room in the medical wing, shielding her eyes from the sunlight that streams in through the windows. Her wound still hurts and she can feel the tight stitching stretching her skin. Althea magicked up a way to stop the bleeding and stitched her closed. Anaea will never know how Althea does it, but thank the gods she does.

She looks around the small bare room and sees a chair beside the bed, a small table and a cloth soaking in a basin of water. The air is still and quiet, absent the sound of life or death or anything. She doesn't know how long she sits in this quiet nothing before she hears the hinges of a door that needs oil and turns her head to look. It's Orithia who steps through the door. Anaea is so taken by her that she doesn't register Diana walking in behind her. 

“Oh?” Orithia smiles at her. “I see you have decided to return to me.” 

Stoic Anaea, who prides herself on her steadfast mind, heart, and soul, gazes upon the woman she calls her heart and cries. It draws Orithia to her bedside and she gathers her in her arms and softly chides her.

“Thia Sparrow,” Anaea says on a tired voice still breaking apart. “I've waited so long for you.”

“I stepped out of the room for only five minutes and you awoke after.” Orithia lets out a soft laugh. “You have waited mere moments.” 

“No, weeks. Months,” Anaea says, holding her hand to her cheek. She shuts her eyes and feels a peace she has not felt in eons. “So long.”

“Shh, I'm here, Pipit,” Orithia tells her, smoothing back hair from her forehead. “I'm here right now.”

Anaea draws her hand from her cheek and kisses her knuckles with self-effacing lips that convey more gratitude than her words ever could and it worries Orithia who strokes her hair, concerned. 

It is a moment Diana knows she intrudes upon simply by bearing witness. She doesn't see the shift in Orithia, how trust makes her believe that if Anaea says she has waited months, then it must be true. She doesn't see how she wonders what has happened to her Anaea between the time Derinoe abandoned her and the time she was found. All Diana can see is that there is love and that it stirs within her envy. 

Diana can remember love, especially from the simplest of things, soft kisses on cheeks and fingers that trail over smooth skin, a look, a smile, the echo of a laugh caught on the spines of a cactus. She'd had that once too, a love like that. She'd held it in her own hands once upon a time, before the trials, before the recitation, back when she and Kate were fresh and new.

After a small quiet minute, Anaea's eyes flash open and she sits up straighter. She immediately winces with the movement and is forced to lay back down.

“Derinoe,” she says, gripping Orithia's forearm. “How is our sister? Does she live? Is she released of Melinoe?”

Orithia helps ease her back down to the bed and pushes hair from her forehead. With a smile she says, “Derinoe lives. She is released and lays apologies at your feet.”

The relief that over comes Anaea strikes Diana hard and almost shames her. Orithia had told her of Derinoe's account of the door opening, and she had expected, if not Orithia, then surely Anaea to harbor resentment in her as Clete and Euryleia had. There is not a thread of anger or hatred between them at the mention of Derione, however. Only calm relief, humble gratitude, a forgiveness that comes to them with such ease. 

Diana remembers when those things came easily to her as well, when she wasn't afraid to be humble or offer forgiveness, when she wasn't afraid to love. Perhaps it's because she hadn't really known then that one's capacity to love directly mirrors their capacity to hurt and the hate that can bring. For someone so defined by love, Diana is ashamed she hadn't known anything about it at all. 

-

As she walks amongst the debris of the square, taking stock of the damage and the casualties, Diana is angered that in a time she should be more concerned for her people, Kate looms in the back of her mind. When she kneels to help lift a slab of stone from the gates, she is thinking that Kate must be back in Gotham by now, perhaps gathering the evidence of their life together to dispose of. As she helps her sisters clear rubble, she is thinking about how much she loves Kate, wonders if she'll regret the first lie she has ever told, and if so, how much.

Around a corner, she catches sight of Kate and Raedne helping a few others clearing debris and stops. Raedne lifts a fallen beam and they spot a lifeless hand beneath it. Kate's lips thin into a grim line and she turns her head, catches sight of Diana, and then pauses. Diana hates how she has to suppress the natural flutter inside her and the expectation of her smile. She can feel herself chaining down her too generous heart and locking it away. Diana turns her head and walks away. She has nothing left to say, not until she has had space and time to sever her heart from her feelings. 

“Hey, bat charmer!” 

It's been a while since she's heard that epithet, something that once made her smile. It makes her stop cold and despite herself, she spins back around and sees Kate running after her. 

“I have an important question I need answered before I go,” Kate says, slowing to a jog before stopping a few feet away.

With a sigh, Diana says, “What is the question, Kate?”

“Who keeps Oscar?” 

Diana's face doesn't betray the wave of affection in her when she thinks of Oscar in his hat with his decorated pot, such a silly little cactus that brought them closer in a time she would have only mourned. It actually makes her sad, the thought of losing him, which she understands is ridiculous. He's just a cactus. That's all he ever was. 

“You can have him. There is nothing in Gotham I need,” she says and something dreadful inside her feels final, like the end of she and Kate is now official. Diana wonders how long it takes hearts to heal. How long for hers? 

“That's a lie,” Kate says now, finally pushing her thoughts through to her tongue. “There is so much you need in Gotham, so many people, even if I'm not one of them anymore.”

Diana stares at her in disbelief and says, “You think me a liar?”

“And you don't?” The way Kate says this is haughty and egotistical, but lacks the jocular tone Diana is used to hearing. She shows Diana the silver guard she still wears. “You told me this made me an amazon and then you told me it doesn't. Which one of those was the lie?”

“You simplify two separate moments by removing facts and context,” Diana tells her, still calm like she would have been before, but Kate takes a few steps closer and speaks again.

“You told me that you would see your trial through to the end, no matter what, for me, because of me,” she says and her voice gathers strength, “and then you told me we were ended before you made good on your word. Which one of those was the lie, Diana?”

Others are beginning to gather around them, watching carefully this terse exchange between these two they had served witness for. Shocked whispers and validated judgements fill the background, but Diana pays them no mind. 

“If you believe me a liar either of those times,” she says smoothly, controlling the pitch and rhythm of her voice, “then you must ask yourself if the Wonder Woman you so admire is capable of lying and if she is, would she even be a Wonder Woman at all? If she is not a Wonder Woman, could you even still love her?”

Kate doesn't hesitate, doesn't even blink. 

“Yes.” 

“To which of those questions?” 

“To all of them.” 

Diana does not pull her eyes away from Kate and she doesn't try to hide the disparity within her, but Kate stands fast, unashamed, unafraid, as she had been with her from their first meeting, and she does not back down. The ends of her hair gently scrape against her shoulder with the wind. Diana has to admit how beautiful she still is to her, especially now, with her eyes fierce and set and her will unmovable. 

“I think you love me,” Kate says with a finality. “I think that scares you, just like it scared me at first too. I think you spent a lot of time trying to show me it wasn't, but it is, isn't it? Scary? You're terrified, aren't you?” 

A cold gaze is the only protection Diana has against her words that threaten to pin her in place and she says, “Go back home, Kate, and leave me to rebuild mine.” 

No, Diana. Not this time. Kate steps forward and flings something at her feet that hits the stone with a loud twang. A batarang is wedged in the ground. For a second, Diana can see a touch of pain in her eyes before she pushes it away. When she speaks her voice is loud and clear enough for all those around to hear.

“Diana of Themyscira,” she says, meeting Diana's eyes with her own determined stare, “I am Katherine Kane of the Unrelenting Dawn and I call upon my right to a determination. Themyscira will be my home too and I will not abandon you.” 

There are gasps and murmured whispers that grow into a commotion in front of them. If there is ever a trait of Kate's that Diana never got used to, it is how she can always stun her, taking the breath for her words right from her lungs and leave her gasping. It's something she loves about her, something she misses, and something she wants to keep secret. 

There is this slimy feeling when one's actions and words don't match one's feelings. Diana can't stand it, but at the same time, she isn't able to wash it off. Is this what lies do? Do they carve a cage of your heart so your feelings can't escape no matter how desperate you want to release them? Is that why her heart feels so tight in her chest? 

She steps forward and bends to remove the batarang. Then she stands, drawing her shoulders back with her head high, as an amazon responding to a challenge should. She looks at the batarang in her hands and her eyes flick back up to Kate.

“Do you know what you're proposing?” she asks her. 

“I know everyone here has had to earn her place here, everyone except you and me,” Kate tells her. “I know amazons aren't born. They're forged and tested. And I know that makes you feel a little different from them, different enough it made you leave paradise, meet some Bats and find me with them, someone who's just a little different from the other Bats, who maybe didn't become a Bat like the others did. Tell me, Diana, would you even be a Wonder, would I even be a Bat, if we both weren't somehow born into it?”

“I don't know, Kate,” Diana says, after the calm settles between them, “but if I'm not amazon as you say, what could you gain from determination?”

Kate holds her in a gaze of dismal resolve and says, “This isn't about gaining anything. I told you. It's about keeping you. It's always been about keeping you.”

There's a small flutter of something in Diana at this. These are the words that can soothe her tattered heart. This is the sentiment that can quiet the hurt inside her masquerading as anger, but they have no proof, no context, nothing substantial to back up their claim. The fears still go unaddressed and the fear tells her not to believe the words.

“If this is the way you wish to do it then,” she says and steels her heart. “Convince me you love me, Kate.”

Kate stares. “And if you don't love me, Diana, prove it.”

-

Diana is considering Kate's batarang as she thinks and turns it over a few times, studying its curves. Sleeker than Bruce's with wings angled upward instead of out, shaped after the scarlet bat Kate wears on her chest. A fondness warms her chest at the memory of her fierce eyes when she flung the batarang at her feet. She still finds her determination stunning, still thinks that when Kate Kane makes a decision and sets forth to follow the path laid out by that decision, she is perhaps the most beautiful.

There is a certain comfort she feels now, a lifting of anger in favor of objective calm and she has to be honest with herself. Kate had been right. She is afraid, but she has lost sight of what exactly scares her. It's larger than simple hurt, more encompassing than basic heartache, but those are the faces her fear hides behind. Clete and Euryleia, Anaea and Orithia, such opposites of the same emotion, seized and shaped by the same force, and how differently from each other they turned out to be. 

She remembers when love had filled her, back when she and Kate were new, when they were warm, when Kate felt like a safe place. She no longer feels that way. But why, Diana has to ask herself. If she understands for the most part why Kate did what she did, why is her forgiveness shy? Why are the walls around her heart so reluctant to come down?

“You know why she called for her right, don't you Diana?”

Diana lifts her head to see her mother approaching and the fondness, the rare clarity, and the warm memory, all of it is immediately covered by the fog of anger once more before she can find her answers. Hippolyta is absent her usual mirth and carrying solemnity in its stead. She has seen her mother look at her like this only a few times in her life and each time it was because she has disappointed her in some way. She wonders what more her mother will tell her she should feel or do now, what more thing has someone else decided for her? 

She drops her eyes back to the batarang in her hands and takes her time answering, flipping the bat over and catching the darkened reflection of herself on its polished surface.

“Yes,” she finally answers. “I do.”

“And still you do not give her that?” Hippolyta asks her and then reaches over to take the batarang away from her daughter's hands. It makes Diana's expression harden.

“I can't,” she says. “She wants something I'm not able to give.” 

“She wants time, Diana. Your time.” Hippolyta's fingers grab Diana's wrist and stop her, making her look at the offending hand and then back at her mother. “She wants a conversation and, if nothing else, closure. Are you truly not capable of such things?”

No, that isn't what she wants. Kate wants to love her. Diana doesn't know if she is capable of letting anyone do that right now. She doesn't know if she even wants to.

She pulls her wrist free and makes herself turn to walk away. Her mother has always had the special talent all mother's have of digging right beneath her skin, but the irritation Diana feels now is unusually possessing and she doesn't like how much it muddles her thoughts.

“I know the truth of you,” Hippolyta calls after her. “You dream of her at night and weep upon waking, then tell yourself it means nothing.”

Over her shoulder, Diana casts upon her mother a look of betrayal and says, “And you teach her of ancient traditions she has no right to know.” 

She doesn't think her mother has looked so hurt because of her as she does now. 

“How petty your pride must be to deny you both these simple things, Diana,” Hippolyta says and the words filet her daughter in one stroke. “The right will be held just before first morning's light. Rest tonight, daughter. I will see you then.”

-

Raedne is beside herself with excitement. A determination! And this one called on by Atea, the dawn that never breaks, the morning that won't be stopped. And the princess! She cannot contain the fervor in her. Has there ever been a more exciting match since the queen killed the valkyrie? No, there hasn't! She rummages through her stores looking for more of the wine made with last year's grapes, locates a bottle, and brings it back to her table where her two friends sit with half finished glasses. Atea has placed her elbows on the table and rests her chin on intertwined fingers Derinoe quietly watches her.

“Come!” Raedne says and slaps Atea on back and refills Derinoe's cup. “Why such quiet on the eve before a challenge? A determination challenge of all things!”

She misses the look Derinoe gives her, but hears the words she speaks well enough.

“This is no match to celebrate, Raedne,” Derinoe tells her, trying to calm her exaggerated movements with a hand on her shoulder. She nods toward Atea who has not moved and doesn't seem to know they are even there. “Diana's Kate hurts tonight.”

Raedne blinks and considers her outworlder friend. She knows Atea is hurting. One doesn't have to be clever to see this, but Raedne also recognizes the impact of this challenge on their tribe. Where everyone is thinking of the present fight, Raedne thinks of the future beyond it. Atea will be amazon and new blood will come to Themyscira. The entrance of a tender-foot always stirs the quiet settled life of a tribe and reminds them of who they are as individuals, as a people, and why they accepted this island. 

A determination is always exciting, but the determination of Atea? Imagine how she and the princess could change everything. Imagine what life they will breathe into Themyscira to replace the complacency that has settled upon it. But Raedne is quiet, because even she recognizes that no one else is looking at it this way, not yet. 

Without warning, Kate's voice comes firm and serious. 

“What weapons are we allowed?” she asks. 

“A sword, a shield, and nothing else but your person,” Derinoe answers with a solemnity that matches the question. 

“And how do I know it's finished? What is considered defeat here?”

“When one of you is incapacitated.” 

“Or killed.” The way Kate says this frightens Derinoe, but it is a truth and she has to confirm it. 

“Yes, Kate, or killed,” she says. “Someone must be rendered unable to continue in one way or another.”

Kate nods, takes in a breath, and says, “Okay.” 

-

In the hour before the sun rises, Raedne and Derinoe lead Kate through the streets freshly cleared of rubble and to the armory where, with their guidance, she is allowed to pick a sword that will complement her strength and speed. When they lead her to the defensive equipment, Kate walks passed the line of shields and out the door without choosing one. Then they escort her through the demolished gates, over green hills, and toward the steep rock cliffs that present nothing but ocean. It is where the sun will crest just above the waves not too long from now. They are the last to arrive.

Kate is hundreds of years too young to have witnessed a determination right, but she's pretty positive the awkward quiet that falls over the women watching isn't normal. No one seems to know who to cheer for. If they have a clear favorite, they are not keen on sharing. 

She holds the sword now by its scabbard, staring across the way at Diana who is listening to Hippolyta like a child who stopped paying attention and is only waiting for the lecture to be over. How closed and unwelcoming she looks, so distant. She is so rigid, like she is trying to keep the world out instead of letting it in. Kate hates seeing her like this. Soon, she thinks. They'll be on separate paths soon and surely then, when nothing else ties them, Athena will restore Diana. She has to. 

Philippus approaches her silently and while she fits a metal bracer to her forearm, latching the leather straps tight to hold it in place

“Thank you, Philippus,” Kate tells her.

“There is nothing I require thanks for,” Philippus tells her, but she offers a small smile and tightens the last strap before kneeing to apply shinguards. “What you do now, you do so with courage and conviction. I cannot ask for anyone more honorable to call on this right from Diana, but a win is unlikely, Kate.”

“I'm not trying to win.” Kate stares passed her at Diana. “I just need her to listen.”

“She may hear your words, but I can't guarantee she will listen.” 

“Won't stop me from trying though.” 

Philippus is silent as she finishes the last leather strap on her left shin and then stands, eyes falling upon Kate's silver hand guard. She takes her hand and holds it where she can study the detailing. She shows Kate her own, silver like hers with a blue quartz instead of red, and a design unique to her and Hippolyta.

“Like mother, like daughter,” she says and indicates the gold of Hippolyta's guard with a nod. “Preferring to have us in silver.”

“Is that significant?” Kate asks her and Philippus shakes her head.

“It's a matter of preference. I have none so Lyta chose. I'm afraid Diana grew up fascinated with mine. It may be why she chose it for you.”

Kate retrieves her hand to look at the guard, remembering the rays of the sun on the day Diana put it on her, the way the blue cape spread in elegance around her the night she recited her name and knelt in waiting for her, and how dense the air had been in that little guest room the first time she said Kate could have her. 

She says, “I think the color suits us.”

“I do as well.”

Philippus places a hand on her shoulder and draws her into a loose hug, something Kate had not thought she would ever see her do, let alone be on the receiving end of, but when she speaks low and near her ear, she understands why. 

“The queen is forbidden to favoritism nor can she afford any action that can be perceived as such. I deliver her words for your ears alone,” she says. “Thank you for loving Diana, and for her sake, don't give up on her.”

“I don't intend to,” Kate says and lifts her free hand to awkwardly pat Philippus before she pulls away. 

“Then, Kate Kane, right-seeker who asks her skill be determined by all eyes present,” Philippus tells her and steps back, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “Though you carry none, may your shield be honorable and your sword true. Show us all the amazon in you.”

She falls to the side and Kate watches her join Hippolyta. Philippus takes her hand in her own and kisses it and does not let it go. 

It is an amazon Kate has not met who calls them all to attention and Raedne and Derinoe give Kate last minute advice and encouragement before taking to the stands to witness. Kate doesn't pay attention to anything else. She sees, when Diana notices her, that she leaves her shield lying on the grass and brings only her sword. Diana has caught her gaze and holds it and there is something formidably regretful about it. Kate wonders what she's thinking right now. Does she look at her now and think of how they once loved each other? 

“Is this really necessary?” Diana asks her.

“How else am I going to keep you still long enough to talk to me?” 

With a sigh, Diana says, “You will never stop trying, will you?” 

“Not until I'm dead, princess.”

The answer stirs something inside Diana. She is still hurt, but resigned. Come what may, her expression says. She doesn't say anything. She only moves. Diana has covered the distance between them in three strides. Kate only has time to bring her sword down to keep her a comfortable distance away, but Diana raises a forearm to catch the tip of the blade with her right bracer and then slides down the length of it, metal grating on metal. Her eyes are focused on Kate, highlighted by the sparks her bracer gives off against Kate's sword. At the angle she is coming, the most efficient attack for her to do would be a punch with her left fist. 

“I know you're scared, Diana,” Kate says, jumping back enough to avoid the fist and grips the hilt of her sword. “I know everything's been taken away and you're scared to see what you're left with.” 

“I know what I was left with, Kate,” Diana says, meeting Kate's vertical strike with a swipe of her blade below. The sheer force of her attack blows Kate's sword back so hard, it pulls her arm straight behind her. “It was you. What I had left was you.” 

“And then I took me from you.” Kate says it as an admission, to acknowledge she understands that was the wrong thing to do, wants Diana to know she understands that. She is left wide open without the speed to bring her guard back before Diana is beside her. 

“You took you away from me.” Diana repeats, not an accusation, but as a statement that saddens them both. 

She lifts an elbow and slams it into her back between the shoulder blade. The blow shoves Kate forward a few steps before she comes down hard to a knee, dodge rolling further away and turn herself around. Diana only walks, following her with sure and unhurried steps. Kate pushes herself up to her feet.

“Hey, do you remember when you asked me if Wonder Woman had a girlfriend?” Kate asks, bending to pick up her sword. “Remember the first time we saw each other after that text? You looked so damned happy. It was fucking adorable.” 

“Don't.” 

“Remember when you met Beth? How she was herself again the moment you hugged her? You both laughed because I cried.”

Kate tilts the end of her sword to her toes and intercepts the next strike, a side swipe to the gut so hard it sends violent vibrations through the metal to her palms. The vibration makes it hard to maintain her grip. Diana has already arced her blade for a strike from above that makes Kate force her grip tight and bring her weapon straight up over her head to block. Her eyes look less focused, trapped between thoughts and emotions its clear she doesn't want. 

“Remember the gala we shocked everyone?”

She pulls her sword from Diana's as she hops sideways to gain distance. Kate aims for the space she had just been standing. The sudden loss of resistance surprises Diana and forces her to take a step forward, right into the path Kate's blade points. She drops low and lets the blade pass over her before knocking it away from below. When Kate's blade passes, she slips the other direction and stands. They spin back to face each other, swords raised once more.

“Remember when we found Oscar?” Kate nearly shouts at her. “When we named him? When we bought his stupid hat? Do you remember, Diana?!”

“Stop it.” 

Diana lays on her a series of three strikes, all blocked, and Kate can see their wide angles, too wide, sloppy, so unlike her usual tight and controlled style. 

“Stop what?” Kate asks between each hit. “Stop remembering us? Stop remembering how happy we were?”

“This is a formal challenge that you called on, Kate.” Diana lets up and draws back her weapon. She stands tall, superficially proud, and her voice is clear and commanding. “Respect that at least if you won't respect its purpose.”

With eyes that glare, Kate shows her the silver guard she still wears and sees how Diana bristles at the sight of it. 

“Like you respect the purpose of this?” she demands. “This is a promise, Diana, a commitment.”

Diana moves so fast, Kate almost doesn't block in time. The hit is so hard it knocks the sword from her hand and throws Diana's too far out, away from the center of her mass, without enough time to bring the sword back in to protect herself before the inevitable impact momentum has planned for their bodies. 

Diana sacrifices her weapon, fingers releasing their hold on the hilt to bring both arms in and angling her shoulder to take the brunt of the hit. Okay, okay. This is something Kate knows. This is something she can do. 

“You can't just take it off like it didn't mean anything!” 

It happens quickly. She palms Diana's oncoming shoulder, cushioning the impact with bent elbows, and moves backward with her to neutralize her force. Then she easily redirects her with a step to the side and a small push of her hand to her back. 

“You can't pretend _we_ didn't mean anything!”

Diana places her palm flat on the ground and spend the rest of her momentum to flip over, landing hard. She takes her time standing and then lifts her head to look at her. Her eyes are hard and her hand reaches out to grab her sword that lay not too far away. 

“It meant everything,” she says. 

“Then why won't you fight for it?!” Kate fires back, her own anger rising in her chest. 

She almost doesn't hear it, the hushed plea meant only for her ears, almost misses just how shattered Diana sounds right now. 

“Tell me, Kate. Tell me why I should.”

There. There's the truth. Kate can see it now. Diana doesn't need saving. She isn't lost. She doesn't want to be found. She isn't trying to get home. She's halfway through a journey and all she wants is someone willing to travel it with her. In the face of this realization, Kate does the one thing she shouldn't. She falters.

In this one moment her confidence wanes, Diana retreats back into herself and this time pulls all her anger forward, hiding every vulnerability she might have shown. Her sword has the force of all her hurt behind it and each strike is precise, controlled now, proper and pure. All Kate can do is block the blows the best she can with her bracers, but the hits are so fast and strong. 

“Why should I fight for something that has caused me the worst hurt? Why should I keep fighting to feel this?” Diana is shouting, but it is the lack of accusation in her voice that strikes Kate. She is demanding a response. She needs one. She doesn't want just any answers to these questions. She wants Kate's.

Kate sees her raise the sword high for a vertical strike. Weaponless, all she can do is raise her arms above her head and catch the blade as it comes down. She can see Diana through her crossed arms, the uncertainty clouding her blue eyes. 

“Why would anyone fight to feel this?” she asks. “To feel this hurt? This pain?” 

With a grunt, Kate pushes up against her blade with no effect. Then she sees the red stone on the inside of her wrist. Quarts can create electricity, Diana had said. Bracing her legs against the ground, she is able to lift herself and Diana's sword just high enough, to gain just enough space, before dropping back low once more to prepare. When the sword comes down, Kate crosses her arms above herself, weaker over stronger, quartz to bracer, and uses Diana's strength against her. 

Kate hears the stone spark with life before a current of light radiates from it. She drags the quartz along the length of her metal bracer, leaving a bright electric field in its wake. Kate braces her feet against the ground once more and with everything she has, she breaks the cross and pushes all of that energy out against Diana, red hair whipping around her violently as she shouts. 

“It's supposed to hurt!” 

The blast blows Diana back with an explosive force, knocking her sword from her grasp a few feet away. She lands hard on her feet with bended knees and skids backwards, dragging fingers in the dirt after her. She lifts her head and stares through the cloud of dust, stunned. 

No time to marvel now. Kate takes the opportunity and the cover of dust to cross the distance between them. She comes fast out of the cloud before Diana has finished processing and she sinks a fist in her ribcage. The hit is good enough to make Diana wince, probably hit a bruise from the weeks long battle she'd just begun recovering from. Kate will take any advantage she can get. She goes for it again and for every bruise she can see, accenting each hit with the answers Diana has demanded of her.

“The hurt is the point, dammit! The hurt is how we measure the good. It's how we know we have something worthwhile. If it were easy, everyone would be happy.”

She grabs her wrist, holds it tight with her left hand, and twists her arm behind her back. The blows sink hard enough that Diana can't recover fast enough before the next comes. Kate hates that she can see how much it hurts her, hates that every sucker punch to tissue already abused makes Diana bite back a cry. Her eyes water each time her fist connects, but like the alcohol in scrapes and cuts, Kate has to think of it as necessary hurts. 

“You are worth every hurt, Diana, every fear. Everything.”

Diana breaks free and Kate jumps back far enough that they both glance at her discarded weapon. Hand to hand, she stands a chance, but if Diana gets her sword again the challenge is over. They dash at the same time, but Kate isn't fast enough. Diana is armed once more. Kate freezes when she sees how she cries too. She drops her fists and takes a step forward, but stops when the point of the blade threatens her.

“Even if I change?” Diana is demanding. “Even if I am never Wonder Woman again?” 

“Oh, to hell with Wonder Woman.” Kate dries her tears with an offended scoff but Diana glares through hers.

“Even if I become someone who doesn't love you?” 

She shakes so horribly now and her voice has none of the confidence it should. Kate hates how she looks at her for answers she isn't ready to believe and she doesn't know what else she can do. How else can she say it? What would it take to make Diana believe her? Is this how Diana felt whenever she saw Kate question them, her, why she was with her at all? This anguish deep inside that only wants to convince her how loved she is? Oh. This is how I've made you feel, isn't it, Diana? She hadn't known how much this hurts. Kate lets herself feel it. She lets herself hurt.

“Yes,” she says. Stares. Nods. “Even if you don't love me.”

She understands now. Every fear inside Diana is coming out through these questions. These are the thoughts that scare her. They started with the ones from the darkened kitchen.

_Kate doesn't trust her. Kate will never trust her. Because she doesn't trust her, Kate will hurt her and she has said she will choose to hurt her again._

These are the thoughts that have been left raw and bleeding, unattended to in the weeks since they separated. They have festered inside her unable to breathe, unable to heal, wounds she's had no time to treat.

_If Kate can choose to hurt her, can she trust her? Can she ever trust Kate again? Will that trust be betrayed once more? If she can't trust her, can she love Kate again?_

The rotten thoughts have bled life into every fear and turned them into monsters made especially for her, designed to keep her trapped inside the walls erected around her dying heart.

_Kate fell in love with her when she was Wonder Woman. Kate fell in love with Wonder Woman. Can Kate love Diana? Will she love her even after all of this, after she finally settles, finally finishes changing? Will Kate still love her then? Could she still love her then?_

She understands Diana's hurt now. She understands why she is so angry. It breaks her heart how long she has gone without affirmation. Yes, Diana. You are so loved. Yes, sometimes, we may hurt each other. Sometimes, we may mess up. Sometimes, we may have to forgive each other. No matter what, I will still be here once the hurt is gone. I will still love you.

Diana still doesn't let Kate come closer. If she has nothing else, she still has anger. That is still hers at least. Her voice splinters painfully with her last question.

“Even if I become someone you don't like?” 

Kate can't stand this anymore. Stop, just stop now. The fight is over. The challenge is done. Just stop. She doesn't care if her weapon still threatens her. Forget the sword, forget the challenge. She can't stand watching her fall apart right in front of her. Despite the blade in her way, she covers the distance and pulls Diana into a hug. 

“Diana, there isn't a version of you I wouldn't want to love.” 

It's the last fear taken down. The absence of those fears leaves Diana hollow. She doesn't even have anger anymore now. Kate has taken that too. It rattles her so badly, she drops her sword and the red blood staining the blade splatters when it hits the ground. 

“Kate-.”

Kate presses their foreheads together and replaces the anger she took with love. She feels the wound now, a gash in her side where warm red leaks. Deep. The amount of blood is staggering. So much blood. All her blood? Crap, that's a lot of blood. 

“Well, shit,” Kate says and takes in a deep breath, groaning at the pain. “Guess this counts as incapacitated.”

She staggers. Her legs will no longer support her and she collapses against Diana who moves to hold her, letting them both sink to the ground. 

“...Kate.” 

The sky is beginning to lighten as dawn makes its appearance behind Diana. Kate can see her crying and she frowns. Heh. Hey, Diana. Look. I brought you dawn. It lights your silhouette like a halo. She can hear her words, but she's starting to sound so far away. Diana is asking her something, telling her something, maybe scolding her about something? She chuckles. That sounds about right. She's so tired now, doesn't feel the pain. See Diana? It doesn't even hurt anymore. She closes her eyes and just wants to sleep. 

 

Continued…

Next: To Face the Hurt. Resolution and catharsis. For everyone. No, for real. Really.


	16. To Face the Hurt

Artemis' face is darkened with anger. Anger is the simplest emotion she can convey for all the different thoughts within her. It hurts to see Diana like this. In truth, she doesn't care if she and Kate Kane work out. She doesn't care at all who Diana chooses or when or why. For her, the point is that the choice is hers. Artemis has always believed in Diana's freedom, that as long as she is free to decide, she will find herself to wherever she needs to be. This is the language of nature, the mutual understanding between predator and prey. Within the context of the Earth's laws, everything unfolds as it must and there is nothing bad or wrong about any of it.

The three of them, she, Athena, and Aphrodite are the ones who continue to watch, despite how heavy the air around them becomes. Artemis has learned not to watch Athena to gauge how well things are going. She has figured out that Aphrodite is the only one who can really see it and this is why Athena keeps her near. This is a trial after all with its own structure imposed by its own rules. This trial is about Diana, Kate, choice, and love. 

“I am frustrated watching this,” Aphrodite says, concerned. “There is so much love. Diana knows it, she feels it, but she has yet to choose it. We may have found her limit, Athena.”

“Perhaps, Aphrodite, but it's her decision to make. She must do it alone and we will respect whatever she chooses,” Athena tells her. “Even if our aid were allowed, neither you nor I would be able to reach her now.”

“And whose fault is that, Pallas?” Artemis asks her.

It's the first time she has ever used that name. She doesn't miss how it makes both of them look at her. She can see Athena has a logical answer, that there is still a gain in sight well worth the wager. She prepares for that curt reprimand, but she isn't prepared for the moment Athena gives her the softest expression she's ever seen grace her face. 

“Perhaps I deserve that.”

She looks away and quietly steps around to face her, musing. This leaves Artemis flustered. This is not like Athena, this expression, that admission, this verbal acceptance of judgment. How much has that one talk with Pallas affected her? She isn't sure how she's supposed to react to this. Now, Athena returns to her usual self and offers a smile she can't decipher.

“You should help her, Artemis.”

“I don't like that you influence her life. Why would I volunteer to?” 

Athena folds her arms calmly and considers her words. This is a point on which they have never agreed. Like any good hunter, Artemis is an observer with the skill of patience. She feels little need to interfere with what she sees is a natural order. Like any good strategist, Athena is an engineer with the skill to tinker. She can see the objective of the complete whole and make adjustments for smoother efficiency. They are opposites.

“Diana is at a cross roads that will shape her future and she feels there is no one to trust,” Athena tells her. “It would do her good to know there is at least someone, god or mortal, who will support her decision whatever it is.”

Artemis frowns. “My presence alone will influence that decision.”

Athena touches her cheek and the gesture stills her. Who is this woman who stands before her, who smiles at her and touches her face? Where is the Wisdom she's known all her life?

The look Athena gives her is warm, almost affectionate, and she says, “Very well, little hunter. If that is how you feel. I will defer to you on this.” 

Then she gives her cheek a soft pat that makes Artemis fume. She almost chuckles watching the young hunter leave with a face flaring red. Aphrodite clicks her tongue. 

“That was cruel, teasing her like that,” she says. “She already has a complex regarding you. You frustrate her by being both kind and condescending in the same moment.”

“I was not teasing,” Athena replies and they both return to Hestia's hearth. “She is still young and wild and should never be tamed. I enjoy the youth of her strong emotions. ”

Aphrodite purses her lips for a moment and then says, “I showed her Pallas. We were watching. She thinks your heart hides and you cannot hunt it down.” 

“Does she?” Athena glances over her shoulder to where Artemis disappeared. “Do you agree?” 

“To an extent. Your heart is hidden, but it doesn't hide. You know exactly where it is. You're the one who put it away.” 

“Of course,” Athena tells her and they round the hearth. She takes a seat and on the wide stone armrest beside her sits the empty wine flash and the cup she used to trick Pallas. 

“Was that really necessary, Athena?” Aphrodite asks her, feeling a pity overtake her at the sight of the cup. “When her memories of you were so precious to her? Doesn't it hurt you at all?”

“Yes, it was necessary and yes, Aphrodite, it does hurt greatly.” 

“You really are cruel, sister, to yourself and to Pallas. How could you do that to you both?”

Athena doesn't respond immediately. She reaches over and lifts the cup Pallas drank from, holding it carefully as if it were still full of river water, and places it on her open palm where they both can see it.

“She did not die a warriors death. As such, her memories would keep her from entering the isle of rebirth,” she says, considering the cup carefully as if admiring a treasure from all angles. “I wish for her to live the life I carelessly stole.”

“Yes, as a new person with new memories,” Aphrodite protests. “Should she be reborn, she won't be the same.” 

“Not exactly the same, no, but as close as I can give her,” Athena says, curiously capping the cup so none of the nothing inside spills and carefully sets it back down in its place by the flask. 

It strikes Aphrodite now. 

“Athena!”

She takes a seat on the stool in front of her. She leans forward and places her hands heavy on Athena's knees to demand her attention. Athena is startled and perhaps mildly offended at the aggressive touch. Aphrodite doesn't care if she is. She is too excited.

“You took her memories to keep, didn't you? They are there, aren't they, in that cup? Once she enters the isle, you can finally draw her soul out before it's taken back to earth. You are planning to restore her with fresh breath as we did the amazons, with a body that resembles her own and with the memories you stored.”

“Does it concern you so much if I am?” 

Aphrodite can't help but stare. She's a mix of delight and disquiet and is not sure which emotion to follow. The cautious expression on Athena's face, however, makes her pause and withdraw her hands from her knees. Aphrodite knows Athena is not one who speaks of her joys or sorrows. She only speaks of plans. So she will talk only of plans as well.

“Concerned for you, perhaps,” she says. “Lots on the isle are random. It may take another hundred lifetimes or more before her lot is called. That is a long time to wait, sister.”

Athena is unconcerned and answers, “I have waited this long. This wait will be no different.”

She sits back and pulls up an image of Diana alone in a small clearing. She finds a better view of her face and notes the contemplation in her eyes, her concentration a clear sign she grows bored of the topic at hand, but Aphrodite still has questions. There is one more thing that doesn't make sense to her.

“Why not just tell Pallas then? What is the point of your trickery?” she asks her. “Were you afraid she would refuse you?”

“Choices leave a mark of memory on the soul. You know this. The memory would vanish but she would still carry the mark into the Fields.” Athena is watching the image with more focus than it deserves right now. 

“Yes.” Aphrodite nods as if her point is obvious. “When restored, that mark will claim its memory and she would remember that she chose you. What is so wrong with that?” 

“The context of the memory is also claimed, both the cause and the effect of the choice made if witnessed. Without that mark, she will remember only up to the moment she stepped into the Lethe.” 

It takes a quiet moment as Aphrodite thinks on this. Then she looks at her and laughs. Is that it? What lengths you go to for pride. How precious. When was the last time she has seen Athena so? 

“You don't want her to remember how terribly shattered you were the moment she forgot you.” She smiles. “That is an anguish for you alone, is it?”

Athena returns to the image, seemingly unaffected by Aphrodite's amusement at her expense. She says, “That moment is mine, Aphrodite. A penance, perhaps, and one I will not share.”

“If that is what you wish.” Aphrodite says, still pleased. “I do so look forward to watching your heart grow when you take it out of storage.”

“As do I.” 

“Perhaps then you will properly kiss her.” 

“And perhaps now will be the last I speak with you of this.”

It's a harmless threat, but a threat nonetheless and Aphrodite does not want to relinquish future talks of Pallas. Humming to herself, she turns on the stool and stands, coming to take a seat beside Athena where she too can see the image. Her joy resonates and she knows it tickles Athena and mildly annoys her. No more words are exchanged between them when they return to viewing.

-

Artemis hates that Athena's words stayed with her, echoing enough times in her heart until she finds herself on Themyscira. She has seen too many a god dip their hands into the stream of Diana's life over the course of it, all to pull her one way or another for their own gain and she does not want to be another. Perhaps, though, there is some truth to Athena's words. Perhaps it is time one of them showed Diana that her life is hers, her choice is hers, and whatever decision she makes, she will still be loved.

She finds Diana in a small clearing she favored as a child and watches her crouch next to the familiar slabs of rock half eaten by earth and moss, creating a small shallow cave at the edge of the small brook. How little she once was to fit beneath that overhang, back when life was simple. Diana sits on top of the rock now in the sunlight with her eyes closed. 

It's the first time Artemis has approached her since Diana grew old enough to start retaining memories of her. There was a time Artemis was one of the deer who ran with a baby across the island or a bear cub she learned to wrestle. After a few years, when Diana began to look for her specifically, Artemis began to hang back in the foliage instead and watch. She wanted Diana to remember the forest, not the gods. 

She has chosen the form she finds most comfortable, somewhere between a doe and a stag with small antlers still covered in velvet. She stops on the other side of the brook and watches her.

_So you remember this place, Diana._

When her eyes open, Diana recognizes her immediately and smiles, an honest humbled joy touching her eyes despite her heavy heart.

“My Lady Huntress, I'm so glad you have let me see you again,” she says. “Have you come to check on me?” 

Part of Artemis is a little surprised. She had thought she timed her disappearance well to erase all trace of her in Diana's early memory. Apparently she hadn't. She takes a few steps closer, hooves leaving dull thuds against the soft earth and flicks her tail. It pains her to see how Diana does not respond to the communication when there used to be understanding in her eyes. She will have to be a little more direct. She steps through the little brook, bending to nibble a clover blossom, then comes to stand at the side of the rock she sits. 

“I'm all right, master hunter. I only wanted the quiet of our meadow to think while Kate still sleeps. I'm not sure what I will say to her when she wakes,” Diana says. “She almost died. If Raedne had not pulled her from my arms and ran her to Althea, she would have.”

There is nothing around them but silence, no birds or creatures, not even a breeze in the leaves or insects in the grass. The forest knows her needs. Diana's words carry a self-contempt that has never touched her voice before. It makes a wave of sympathy wash over Artemis and she climbs the small mound of earth that covers the back of the flat rocks her fawn sits.

She arches her neck and nibbles at dark locks of hair, remembering when there had been only soft fuzz atop her softened head. Diana obliges her and frees that shoulder, pulling all her hair to the other side. Artemis settles down beside her and folds her legs comfortably beneath her.

“I wonder if you have an opinion of her,” Diana says, crossing one ankle over the other. “When you look at her, do you see the hunter or the game? When you look at me now, do you see a predator or a prey? I used to think myself a hunter like you. Now, I'm not so sure.”

It saddens her how Diana misses the point. One isn't better than the other. They are roles we learn from those around us and both roles are equally important. A patch of sunlight on the stream makes a sparkle of gold and a cloud of gnats fly in formation near some trees. Diana lowers her head.

“You must be disappointed in me.”

_I have never been disappointed in you._

Now, Artemis leans against her and rests her head on the shoulder now freed of hair. A comfortable silence settles on them and Artemis can feel the tension in Diana's shoulder ease with every minute that passes. While Diana finally finds the objective calm she has sought these long weeks, Artemis listens to the forest come back alive bit by bit. First comes crickets hidden in grass. Then the birds in a distant tree. Her ears twist and pin occasionally with each new addition. It matters not if she knows what thoughts Diana is having. It only matters that she has this space and the time to process and feel through what she has not been afforded the chance to. 

A hand comes up and scratches her muzzle. She can hear Diana's heart in her chest, beating to its own rhythm, the natural metronome of the wilds. It has settled to a steady familiar calm. Beneath the warm sun, she closes her eyes and dozes. Diana scratches her head and even her touch feels more assured and confident. She has found her peace and her path forward.

_Hello, little fawn. It has been far too long since I've seen you._

“Thank you for sitting with me, master hunter.”

-

Orithia holds Anaea's hand and leads her through the door of their home. The early evening light filters through the window on their west facing wall and the room almost glows like firelight. Anaea has never been one for unnecessary words and Orithia has never been one to require them, but today, in the privacy of their home, there is a question that needs asking and an answer that needs giving. What had happened to her? Before anything can be said, however, Anaea takes hold of her elbow and draws her back. She is every bit as serious as she usually is when she catches her gaze, but when she moves to hold Orithia, her embrace is anything but stern. 

“Are you happy, Thia?” she asks her, pulling back just enough to run her fingers along the dark hair that frames her face. She kisses her forehead. “Have you been happy here with me?”

“What a thing to ask,” Orithia replies and a kiss lands soft on her eyebrow. 

She sees the smile, loves how gentle Anaea looks like this, in their home where only her eyes can see, her kind and gentle treasured one. She blinks when calloused hands hold her face tenderly and Anaea kisses her eyelash. 

“Would you be happy with me anywhere? For any length of time?” 

“What is this line of questions? You are being quite mysterious,” Orithia says as one of Anaea's hands slides to her neck and around to thread in the hair at the base of her head. “Althea has just released you. You'll hurt yourself if you keep kissing me, Pipit.”

The height difference between them is just enough to be considerable and to even look at her, she has to tilt her head backwards, fuller into the hand at the back of her neck, exactly where she knows Anaea wants it. She has never seen Anaea look at her like this, almost with the stupor of too much drink but with focused eyes and a deliberate stare, intentionally offering a smile that comes the closest to the endearing stupid of drunk. It makes her breath short and her heart beat. Anaea looks at her like this, enamored and in love, with tears welling in her eyes. What else can Orithia do but lift herself on her toes to meet her kiss? 

“I've done it, Orithia,” she says, her words just a tickle of breath against her lips. “I have kept my promise to you.”

Orithia's eye's flare open and she starts to draw back to question, but Anaea's strong hand pulls her back for a firmer kiss. She has to stoop further down and hold her up with an arm that presses their bodies together because Orithia's legs have come undone. She cannot stand. 

That promise, almost as old as this island, that sweet, misguided promise a young Anaea made the first time Orithia refused her quartz, when Orithia first told her she had been barred from seeking the Fields. Find another name to recite, she'd told Anaea. Give this quartz to one who can bear her share of paradise's price. And then Anaea promised her. The words of that promise now echo silently in the space between their lips and shivers throughout their kiss.

Orithia finds herself crying and Anaea's laugh that brushes against her cheek draws out her own. There's so much to ask. What did she do? How did it happen? How did she even manage? What was the trial? Those questions can come later. Right now, they wipe happy tears and kiss through soft laughs. Anaea lifts her and carries her to bed.

_If, one day, you accept my stone, Orithia, you have my word. I will bring you to paradise._

-

Kate dreams of her sister Beth, back before they were taken, before their mother was killed, before she and Sir buried them both. She dreams of her when they had been happy and they were closest to each other than anyone else. She dreams of how empty it left her when her sister was taken from her. Sir did his best after Beth, but he's only a father. A father can never replace a twin. 

Her dream goes dark. It's hard to breathe. There is the sound of explosions, boots heavy on stairs, and the feel of a barrel against her head. All she can smell is burlap and gun powder, the specific scent of gun grease, the kind she used when cleaning a firearm. She dreams of reassembling a rifle set out in pieces before her, the soft kiss of another cadet, how naked her finger felt when she placed her ring on that desk. Then she dreams of letters, emails, and phone calls, of all the different ways she'd found out she'd lost another person. Even catching the name in the words of a breaking news bulletin running along the bottom of the screen during Sharp Point on MSNBC.

How could they have been saved? What could have been done? Why had it not been her instead?

Night terrors have always been common for her. Diana used to rouse her awake and hold her tight until she could reorient herself and calm down, but she hasn't been here these past few weeks. In her dream, Kate knows she's not coming. She can't breathe. She's suffocating. The air is so thick she sinks. She's drowning. She just wants to come up breathing again. She needs Diana. Where is Diana? 

-

Althea had just placed the cool cloth to Kate's forehead when she wakes with a start and knocks it off. Her patient grimaces, grabs her injured side and then flops back down with a soft curse. Then she shields her eyes from the sunlight and curses again while she brings her breath under control again. Whatever Kate Kane dreams about, it seems it's rarely pleasant. 

“You have awoken earlier than I thought,” Althea says and waits until Kate moves her hand to look at her. “Not a fan of sleeping, I gather.” 

“Not especially,” Kate says, lifting her eyes back to the ceiling and then inspects her bandaged wound with light fingers.

Althea swats her hand away and says, “Stop that. If you reopen yourself, I will not patch you again.” 

“Ah, you must be Althea.” 

“And you are the one they call stubborn.” 

Kate tries to push herself to a sitting position, grinning through the wince, and Althea places an arm behind her and lets her grip her hand for support. She stands the pillow behind her and eases he back against it. Kate takes her time settling against the pillow.

“Unrelenting, actually,” she says and Althea scoffs.

“An eloquent way to say stubborn.” 

“Fair enough” Kate shrugs but smiles and says, “So, lay it on me, doctor. What's the damage?”

“You took a full hit to your lower left quadrant. The site is clean, but deep, and a few vital organs were nicked,” Althea says, crossing her arms. “You are very lucky it happened here on Themyscira. Off island, you would be dead.”

“Why? You got some magic healing powers here?”

“Gaea stores her energy here beneath our feet and lets life flourish on this island where it would otherwise perish, even us. So, yes, in a way, we have magic healing powers here.” Althea smirks, amused at her. “Stave off sleep. Diana should be arriving soon.”

An interesting quality becomes of Kate's face now, the cockiness slipping away to something more genuine and she says, “How is she?”

“Amusing question coming from one almost dead from her sword.”

Kate's face hardens. “Is she okay? Yes or no?” 

“My, you are a demanding one. I would find that off putting were I Diana.” 

“Good thing you aren't then, huh?” 

“Quite. You can ask your questions yourself when she arrives,” Althea says her, grabbing a light robe and holding it for her. “Put your arm through the sleeve, stubborn dawn. Or would you like to greet the princess half naked?”

-

Hippolyta finds Philippus standing on the veranda that hangs from the bedroom. Her head is tilted toward the night sky and the moon is bright enough to see gray wisps of thin clouds. It's unusual to find her standing anywhere gazing out like this. She is not a dreamer and when she is pondering a trouble related to her duties, she sits in the Parthenon with the likeness of Athena and Nike until she has developed a solution. Looking just to look, however, is scarcely a sight.

With soft steps that Philippus doesn't seem to hear, Hippolyta comes to her back, taps her shoulders to get her attention, and then encircles her arms around her from behind. It actually surprises her, a rare treat, and it is both terribly amusing and only slightly concerning.

“By the wrath of Zeus, Lyta,” The small jump she does makes Hippolyta laugh and Philippus spies her from the corner of her eye with a testy look. “I didn't hear you.”

“I'm sorry to scare you, my love,” Hippolyta says as the last bit of laughter finally fades. “I would promise not to do so again, but it would make me sad to never see your cute surprise again.”

With a harmless shake of her head, Philippus says, “What is the news of Kate? Has she awakened?”

“Yes, just now. Diana has been called if she has not already arrived.” 

“And you're here with me instead of eavesdropping on them?” Philippus asks her. It earns her a testy look that makes her smile. 

“I have never much liked the idea of Diana bonding with someone off island.” Hippolyta frowns in a way only a mother can and leans into Philippus' shoulder. “I worried she would not know the nature of man and be fooled. How could I entrust her to any of them? She only knew Themyscira. She only knew us.”

“Because of that, she had to leave, Lyta. We've had this talk many times before and after she left. Diana has proven more capable than you allow and she has chosen someone worthy. Besides, you like Kate Kane.”

“I do. I find her charming. Do you not?”

“She is brave and fair-minded and I like how she challenges Diana.”

“Kind words for the woman who takes your daughter away, general,” Hippolyta says with a small hum and lays a soft kiss to her shoulder to quell the blush her words have caused. “You know she is yours as well as I do. Your blush suggests a shame that saddens me.”

With quiet words, Philippus says, “I'm not ashamed, Lyta. I'm humbled. Of course, she is mine. Sometimes, I look at her and feel such pride my gratitude gives me pause. Her mother chose me to love and has given me her. All I can offer in return is to love them both as well.”

“That is enough. Your love is always more than enough.”

Though humorously unskilled in romance sometimes, Philippus will say words that leave a lasting imprint on Hippolyta's heart. She steps closer and tightens her hold, hiding the heat on her cheeks by pressing her face into her shoulder. It makes Philippus smile and affectionately pat her hand.

In the quiet that follows, she returns her attention to the night sky and the dark clouds scattered across the stardust luster. It is beautiful, the lasting glow of distant stars and galaxies. When she recovers, Hippolyta looks up with her and they are two long-lived lovers thinking of miracles beneath an awesome more ancient and mysterious than their gods. They do not feel small or inconsequential. They feel bonded and devoted, part of each other and the speckled sky above, and it is more significant than either of them thought possible to feel.

“What ails you tonight, beloved?” Hippolyta asks her.

“Lyta, you told me once you knew of Gudra's feelings before she called upon determination,” Philippus says softly.” How long before did you first see it?”

“Since the moment you introduced us on the day of Demeter,” Hippolyta rests her chin on her shoulder. “Her interest in you was very clear.” 

A melancholic sigh slightly lifts the shoulders in her arms and it makes her hold her tighter, hoping to comfort if even a little. She gives her the time she needs to think through whatever thought troubles her.

“How could I have not seen it, Lyta?” Philippus asks her, her voice low, near deprecative. “Was I truly so horrible at such things? I wish one of you had told me. Perhaps I could have saved her the suffering.”

The tone she uses and the fact that her judgement is turned to herself makes Hippolyta loosen her hold and step around to command her attention. Her hand rests firm on her beloved's cheek.

“Whatever thoughts you think, Philippus, abandon them now. You are not at fault,” she tells her, making sure she has her focus. “I'm sorry I did not tell you. I see now I should have, but Gudra made her choices and we made ours.” 

She gives her a soft kiss, her finger tips remembering the soft contours of her face. She draws out the guilt she sees in her eyes and kisses her heart closed. Philippus takes the hand on her cheek and brings it to her lips before using it to coax Hippolyta closer and with an arm around her waist draws her to her spot by her side where their bodies fit together comfortably. Something humorous strikes her now and she lets out a soft chuckle.

“She once used my affection for you as a training tactic. Have I ever told you?” Now the memory makes her lips lift in a smile.

“How did she manage that?”

“She threatened to fly straight to you and announce me your suitor if I missed even one strike. It terrified me.” 

“You must have performed well then. I never received such an announcement, though I now I wish I had,” Hippolyta says, resting her head back against her and nestling her shoulders just a bit more in her warmth.

Philippus shakes her head. “I missed three. The first, she could not find you. The second, you joined a hunt on the other side of the island.”

“And the last?” 

“I nearly cried from my panic and she took pity on me.” 

“Panic? Was I really so scary to you then?” 

“You absolutely were.” Philippus drops her head with a soft laugh until she is quiet once more. “She was not always filled with hatred. Lyta, once she was magnificent. I wish you could have met that Gudra.”

Hippolyta presses closer against her and whispers, “I know, beloved. I do as well.” 

-

When Diana pushes the door open, she first sees Kate propped up on the bed, but then sweeps the room and lets her eyes land on Althea. She is sitting in a chair she had placed by the side of the bed with both arms and legs crossed, looking as impatient.

“Ah, you're here, princess,” she says, standing. “Good. I will take my leave now.” 

Diana stops her as she walks by with a hand on her arm and says, “How is she, Althea?”

“You as well, Diana?” she asks, disapproving and steps passed her to the door. “Diana, here is Kate. Kate, your Diana. Entertain each other with your questions and leave me out of it.” 

She exits the room mumbling to herself. Warriors have courage? Ha. Need more courage more like it. The click of the door closing casts them both in a confining silence. There has never been an awkward silence like this between them, not even before they became a them. Diana catches Kate's eye and supposes she shouldn't be surprised when she looks away. The last time they saw each other, Diana had just fatally wounded her and she was bleeding out in her arms. 

Diana has spent the day in Artemis' calming presence replaying a lot of that fight, replaying a lot of what Kate said and asking herself why she needed to know the answers to the questions she had asked. 

“You know, it's kinda refreshing to see someone talk to you like that,” Kate says as her gaze finds the window on the right hand wall. 

“You would enjoy seeing her scold my mother then.” 

She crosses the distance to the bed and takes a seat on the chair Althea abandoned. Kate's face twitches with a tinge of pain from her chuckle and Diana remembers an art exhibit and her boyish grin. _Who'd have thought breathing could hurt so much, huh?_ It's a memory of another time, when she hadn't known how difficult it can be to forgive. Anger is easier, isn't it Kate? It's so much harder to face the hurt, to deal with it properly, to both learn and grow from it instead. She understands this a little better now. 

She also knows that anger accomplishes nothing. It's time she and Kate face the hurt.

“Hey, how powerful do you think Swamp Thing or Ivy would be if we brought them here?” Kate asks and Diana can hear the false bravado in her voice. “Althea said something about Gaea's energy. Is it like The Green? I wonder if it'll give Oscar a growth spurt. He's such a stubbly little guy, you know?”

At this moment, Diana wants nothing more than for Kate to look at her. It's a childish desire, one she's felt since the moment Athena brought her back, but it has grown unbearably heavy in the weeks long battle. _Keep me with you. Don't leave me alone. Don't let me go._

“Kate, please look at me.”

Kate is shaking her head. She gives a self-deprecative laugh, but her nose is beginning to run and she has to sniffle to contain it.

“I can't,” she says. “It's your voice. It's been a long time since I've heard it sound so kind.”

The words hit Diana hard. She is out of her seat before she can rethink it, leaning one hand on the side of the bed and reaching out with the other to touch Kate's cheek, drawing her face toward her. She needs Kate to look at her, to see their matching unshed tears. There is so much to say, but these tears, they block the words. They have to fall first. Diana takes a seat on the bed beside her and touches their foreheads together.

“I know. I'm sorry.” She shuts her eyes. “You didn't deserve that.” 

Kate tries to breathe even, but her chest and shoulders begin to heave. She is almost unable to get the words out. 

“Do you still love me, Diana?”

“I do, Kate.” She sighs with the admission, nods gently. “I never stopped.” 

Kate breaks. She lowers her head and cries. Diana sits on the bed beside her and they wrap their arms around each other, holding tight. Kate is whispering apologies and each one pulls another painful thought or feeling from Diana's heart. She cries because she feels lighter. She cries because this is what she has been seeking, this overwhelming relief that comes with Kate's love. They sit together and weep for as long as they need and then they dry each other's tears.

“So, that was a dirty lie then, huh?” Kate asks her, wiping her cheek a last time and trying to smirk. “On the beach.”

“I'm sorry,” Diana says quietly. “I hate how easy it was to say words that cause so much damage. I hate how alone they made me feel and how they must have hurt you.”

Kate chuckles. “You're so damn lucky I love you.” 

“Yes, I think so too.”

There's still so much to say, but those words can wait. For now, all she wants is this.

Diana sleeps with her that night. The bed is small and not made to comfortably accommodate two people, but for them, it suffices. They cannot hold enough, even when Kate winces at any movement. The wince is soft and affectionate. Diana has seldom had a chance to sleep in a bed at all since returning, but she still finds Kate's weight on the mattress and her warmth reassuring. Even if it may be tight and every movement gently stirs them awake, it's a welcome reminder of this safety. Everything is all right and if it isn't yet, it will be.

 

Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone (including myself) who has enjoyed Athena and Pallas have Hypocritical_Critic to thank for their happy ending. Her comment on them made me decide they deserved a happy ending. Well, a happier ending, anyway.


	17. Formidable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling in love again, better than ever before.

Althea takes two days of weaving Gaea's energy into Kate's wound. Kate and Diana use the time to have several long and exhausting discussions. They have little time or concern for others. There is too much that needs saying, too much that needs hearing, and too much listening to do. Everything from how helpless Diana felt to the panic Kate feels at loss and how deep those things run in them both.

“I'm sorry, Diana. I didn't think of it like that, like it was a unilateral decision. When I'm about to lose someone, if there is something I can do to prevent it, it's all I can think about. All else be damned.”

“That isn't fair to me or anyone else you care for. You're damning our say in the matter as well.”

“Yeah. I'm learning this.”

“It's also not fair to you, Kate. You are not responsible for everyone's safety and you are not alone in shouldering that responsibility.”

“Yeah. I'm learning that too. You must have thought I was a bitch. And then to drop you in the middle of all the bullshit here.”

“...you were not my favorite person, no.”

“Diplomatic way of putting that.”

“It felt like, instead of being your partner, I had one purpose for you and I was dismissed once that purpose was fulfilled. It wouldn't have hurt as much if it had happened the following day instead of at that moment, right after that.”

“Right. Not my best timing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-”

“I know you didn't. It's all right. I have more context now to better understand your decision. I knew you had experienced a great deal of loss, but I hadn't known how many and in what ways. You were so young when it started, Kate.”

“I averaged it once. It's a death and a half per year for the last twenty years, give or take. And some of these guys didn't have anyone else to mourn them. Can you imagine having someone different to mourn every year for twenty years?”

“No, I can't.”

“It would be more if I had been able to serve. Shit. No wonder I panic.”

“How do you do it so frequently? How do you cope?”

“Obviously, not well. I think we've just established that.”

It takes a lot of patience and a lot of processing. It requires giving the benefit of the doubt and asking questions to better understand. It makes them withhold offense and pull back defenses. One by one, each brick in the wall between them is carefully examined together and then removed. 

_What do we do now? If a situation like this happens again, how do we handle it? What action will make me feel secure in your safety and ensure your autonomy? In order to feel secure, what do you need? How can we achieve that?_

At times, it feels almost ridiculous, the lengths and scopes of their discussions, but after each, despite the difficulty, they both come away understanding better and feeling better understood. In between, Althea weaves more of Gaea's energy in Kate's wound and, grudgingly, runs food errands for them. Each time the door opens, watchful eyes strain to catch a peek before the door closes shut again. 

On the third day, Althea finally, and all too gladly, announces Kate can safely walk about outside with little worry and they can migrate their talks outside in the air and the sun and away from Hippolyta and her watchful spies. 

-

After spending the last two days in confined intimacy, outside is expansive and the complete opposite. They stand on a large flattened rock jutting out of the sandy beach, overlooking the ocean. Crystal water laps against the ledge of the dark rock and the sun shines warm on their shoulders. Diana is watching Kate, admiring the bit of sun-touch her complexion has absorbed and how it heightens the musculature of her strong shoulders and arms. 

“When did you know, Diana?” Kate asks and bends and picks up a rock from the surface and flings it out into the water. “That you might be interested in me?”

Diana clasps her hands behind her back and straightens, looking out over the waves to watch Kate attempt to beat the distance of her first throw. 

“For a while, all I knew was that I had noticed you,” she says and her eyes flick curiously toward Kate when she hears her chuckle softly.

“Noticed me, huh?” Kate considers the words, tosses the rock she holds in the air and then catches it mid air. “Noticed what exactly?”

She flashes Diana a playful self-important smile. Then she steps sideways to throw the rock out toward the water. She winces slightly. Twisted too much. She holds her side as she watches her throw. It spins as it flies, bounces once off a cresting wave and then, disappointingly, is swallowed by another rising swell of sea. She picks up another rock and rolls it between her fingertips, eyes set on her target destination. A sea breeze blows against their backs, combing salt fingers through Diana's hair, and she lifts her chin and lets it. 

“I noticed the way you move,” she says.

Kate pauses mid-throw, glancing at her. Diana lets out a small smile and tucks a lock of wild hair behind an ear to tame it. She looks at Kate who immediately pulls her eyes away clearing her throat. The rock almost sails through the air, nearly kisses the line of the horizon, and then sinks below open water.

“Your movements are designed to hit hard and fast and the lines of your body are practiced and precise,” Diana tells her. “When you fight, Kate, you are both graceful and brutal. You're a marvel to watch.”

Kate smirks. “You thought I was hot.”

“I thought you were beautiful.” 

“Which is hot in Diana speak.”

Diana shakes her head with a small smile and takes a step back from the edge of the water. Kate follows her down the length of the rock back toward the sandy beach. 

“Is that when you caught feelings?” 

“Caught feelings?” Diana smiles at this phrasing.

“Yeah. Was it before or after Lucy's diner?”

“If not before, then perhaps, it was during,” she says. “Little by little, with every answer you gave, every question you asked, and every moment I stunned you.” 

Diana drops to the sand below and then turns to offer her hand. She pauses when she sees Kate staring down at her. Her hair is beautiful against her warm complexion and it makes the green of her eyes almost shine. A slight flare of red touches her cheeks as she gazes down at her. Diana lifts her hand a little higher and smiles.

“Yes, just like that,” she says, softly. “That's when I caught feelings.”

Kate coughs but takes her hand and for a few more moments, they stay like this, holding on and staring. Finally, Diana offers her second hand and slightly bends her knees until her thigh is decently level, a safe step down from the rock Kate still stands. She nods toward it. Uncertainly, Kate steps onto her thigh and wobbles only slightly before bringing her hands to Diana's shoulders for balance. Diana only stares up at her and then lowers herself to one knee so Kate can lean on her shoulder and step down. She winces only a little as her side bends, far less than it would have if she had jumped down.

“Show off,” Kate says with exaggerated apathy, but she palms Diana's cheek as she steps by and kisses her temple. “If you burn through all your bat charm now, how will you deal with the rest of your life?”

Diana covers the hand on her cheek with her own and it stills Kate. Gently, she removes her hand and stands. She kisses Kate's knuckles and watches her breath catch.

“I'll manage somehow.”

Still holding her gaze, Diana loosens her hold and regards her steadily as Kate slowly pulls her hand free and steps back, silently watching and swallowing hard. At the first step Diana takes, Kate takes a breath and holds it, releasing it only when she has innocently walked by and encourages her to follow.

-

They step over the little brook in the clearing and Diana shows her the small stone grotto she used to sit in and smiles when Kate gushes at the image of little Diana. You were so tiny! Diana can see Artemis' hoof prints in the soft mud around the stream and small rabbit tracks cross over them. She wants to see Kate in this quiet place of solitude where she finally found the peace needed and in that peace was able to follow the tracks her heart made on her soul all the way to its hiding place.

Kate steps barefoot in the brook that still sparkles beneath the sun and watches the clear water run around her ankles. 

“Why I didn't kiss you in that motel room?” Kate asks and laughs, tossing a look over her shoulder at her. “Embarrassment? Panic? Fear? Pick your favorite.”

Diana takes a seat on the stone where she sat with Artemis. She watches as Kate notices the tracks by her feet and then carefully squats, keeping her back straight as possible to inspect them. She decides she likes how Kate is first drawn to Artemis' hoof print and how she gingerly traces the edges with her finger tips.

“All reasons I could understand if you had not announced it first,” she says. “I would have said something if I didn't want you to.”

Kate balances on the balls of her feet and a smile becomes of her lips. She says, “Yeah, sometimes I'm not that brave.”

“But you normally are the one who initiates a first kiss?”

“Me? Usually, yeah, but you know me. I'm impulsive and impatient and some women will never pull the trigger.”

Somewhere above, a hawk's cry pierces the sky and there's a flutter of wings that catches both of their attentions. Kate is still looking above when Diana lowers her head and spots a patch of clovers by her feet. 

“So far, every woman is like that around me,” Diana says with an amused smile, leaning over to inspect the patch and separating two clovers stuck together. They were both three-leafed. 

“Only women, eh?” Kate gives a cheeky grin.

“Men are much too forward.” Diana tells her. “To be honest, I was a little disappointed you didn't follow through. It was somewhat exciting.”

“What was? To just be kissed?”

“To just be kissed, yes, for the first time with little warning by someone I like. That's rare for me.” 

Diana smiles to herself as she fingers a few more clovers. She hears Kate move but doesn't look up until her shadow covers the patch of clovers she inspects. Soft fingers touch her chin and angle her face up. Kate cups her cheek and says nothing, only looks at her, her other hand tenderly stroking her face. Diana doesn't know why she holds her breath, only that she does. She waits with a pleasant anxiety bubbling inside her.

As she hovers over her, Kate's hair falls like a cerise curtain they hide behind. She leans down. The kiss is soft and sweet. It's both familiar and new, lips she has kissed several times over and yet, right now, has never before. She pulls away and a thumb strokes along her jaw. Diana blinks up at her.

“Probably doesn't count now, but that's how I would have kissed you then.” Kate offers an apologetic smile. “Something small like that just to say I had.”

Diana's hand comes up and brushes her cheek with her knuckles. She brings her back down for something firmer, possessing, a confident answer to a hesitant question. This kiss is unhurried and cannot be rushed. It isn't a stepping stone to something bigger. It exists for the clean and simple reason that it wants to, because they want it to.

When they part this time, Diana says, “That is how I would have responded.”

Their eyes have a conversation their words are not able to yet. Kate helps Diana to her feet and they step back over the brook without exchanging anymore words, leaving the moment and the memory of those kisses lingering in the sunlight for the meadow to remember.

-

At the top of an incline, Diana can see the rocky ledges of the small cliff face that over looks a small harbor where there is a curious dark swirl just beneath the surface of the water just off the shore. These waters belong to the Nereids and the amazons do not ask their help frequently. A ways from the shoreline, up the gentle incline, is a building. If one's wounds are larger than Gaea can handle or will take much longer to heal, this building is used as a resting place, a quiet solitude where an amazon can take the time she needs to heal from the inside out.

Diana leads Kate down the gentle grassy slow to the of edge of the water. Althea would have disapproved of asking the Nereid's for a wound that was no longer fatal, but Diana had waited until she left to tell Kate there was something else she wanted to show her here, a secret. She can tell by the look in Kate's eye right now that she's remember this promised secret place.

To the left there is a small rocky cliff, no more than fifteen feet high, but its reach extends to the center of the swirl of darkening blue. She points toward it. 

“There. Just on the other side, seven or eight feet below, there is a passageway only the Nereids can open. What I want to show you is there, Kate.”

She is conscious of how Kate watches her now, much in the same way she did on the night they exchanged phone numbers, wondering something but waiting to see what happens next. Diana steps closer and begins unfastening the brooch that cinches the fabric of her robes at her left shoulder.

“When we reach the right spot, we will sink below the surface together,” she tells her as she pulls the brooch free and the fabric falls loose. Kate reaches up to undo hers as well. “You must look only at me and when I move away, follow.” 

“That sounds ominous. What happens if I look?” 

At this, Diana's hands pause and her lips slightly curve upwards. She gives her a look as she eases the robe from her bare shoulders. 

“They are nymphs. Like any other nymphs, infatuation is a skillset of theirs and I am asking them to heal your wound with their caress. Should that happen, I would rather your focus be on me.”

While Kate gapes, Diana takes over the removal of her own gown and then steps passed her to lay the clothing on a rock. She knows what Kate is about to say and allows her the time to find the words.

“Diana of Themyscira, who rarely gets jealous,” Kate says, shocked. “Would that actually make you jealous?”

“I am courting you again, Kate.” Diana looks over her shoulder and then smiles. “So, yes, were a nymph to succeed in seducing you away, even just for today, I would feel a little jealous.”

Kate is quiet for a moment. She hasn't said a word when she joins Diana at the edge of the water and takes the hand offered her. She brings her attention to the swirl of dark blue she can see just beneath the surface not too far out and her lips purse with a thought.

“You know, before you, I used to make women swoon all the time too,” she says with a slow nod. “I may not have been as good as you, but I was pretty skilled at it.” 

“I've seen you work,” Diana tells her as she leads her into the crystal waters. “I know how good you are.” 

They make their way to the blue revolving waters and find its pull mild on the surface. There is mild apprehension and slight awe on Kate's face as she peers through the clear water to the tumbling swirl beneath them. Dark shadows gather below and almost spin and Kate tries to get a better look at one before it darts back out of view.

“Take a deep breath before we submerge,” Diana tells her, keeping her eyes locked on hers. “There will not be a chance for another.” 

When Kate nods, Diana counts to three. Together they fill their lungs and then let themselves sink below the surface. It has been a while since Diana has needed to see the Nereids. She feels guilty to ask their help on a wound so far healed already. It is selfish she knows and they will remind her of it, but she will make amends. Diana tries to smile at Kate, to reassure her, especially when dark hands come into view, touching, prodding, testing them both.

She knows when they've touched the wound in Kate's side by the way her eyebrows furrow slightly. The burn of life, especially in cold water, can come so suddenly it's a surprise. Diana reaches through the water and brushes her thumb across Kate's cheek where the rays of sun flicker, refracted through the surface. It keeps Kate anchored, eyes still on her.

Then as soon as she sees the last shadow retreat, Diana pulls her toward the rocks just a foot below them. They must reach the entrance before the Nereids swim off. The passage is just where she remembers and the last she sees of the Nereids is of them pulling back the opening further and guiding them both in. The passage angles up and she can see the soft floating lights above. With Kate beside her, she makes for the lights, her lungs just beginning to burn. 

Kate stops immediately when she sees that the floating lights is a sea of luminescent jellyfish, lighting up the water like lanterns of pale blue, pink, and green. Air bubbles escape her mouth, but Diana takes her hand and pulls her onward into the cloud of jellyfish and through them. There isn't time to hesitate, she knows. They both need air. They break through the surface unharmed and fill their lungs with air. Kate gasps until she is laughing, pushing wet hair back from her forehead and looking down at the glowing water illuminated by floating jellyfish.

“Holy shit,” she says, wiping her face. 

“They won't harm guests of the Nereids,” Diana tells her, making her way to rocky ledge where she pulls herself up on a half submerged rock ledge big enough to comfortably seat them both. 

The water only reaches to the middle of her thighs and there is a small wall of rock at their backs where a small stream of water falls upon it from above, eroding the slope over hundreds of years until it is smooth to the touch. 

“It's beautiful,” Kate says pulling herself up beside her and look around. 

She leans against the small smooth slope and rests her forearm on the ledge above it in the stream that flows behind them. They are in a small a cave, enclosed and intimate, lit only by the effervescent glow of the jellyfish, the lapping water and their own lazy trajectories casting the cave in faint dancing light. Diana smiles at the shimmer of pastel. It's been a long time since she's been here. 

“The Nereids showed me this when I was very young,” she says and she can't help but smile. It's every bit as beautiful as she remembers. 

“Well, you must bring all the girls here.” Kate gives her a look of knowing appraisal, but she glances around. “Especially since you have to get them naked and traipse them passed a million nymphs first.”

“I've never brought anyone here.”

“Really? Why not?”

Diana notices a few jellyfish float toward her feet and brush just lightly along the arch of her foot. She taps one with her toes and smiles softly while it floats away and rejoins the group, happily bobbing along with the glimmering crowd.

“Did you never want a place of your own when you were young?”

“Every kid does, Diana. Kids want a club house where no one else is allowed. When they become teens, they want a place to get laid.” 

Warm fingers gently scrape across Diana's cheek and draw back wet hair so she can see her better. The touch makes Diana look at her. Kate's lips curl into a small smile. Her fingertips glide over the curve of her ear to place the hair away.

“It's a shame a pretty bat charmer like you never got laid here.” 

The intended innocence with which she'd said them doesn't match the way the words come out, but when she hears it, Kate doesn't take it back and doesn't look away. Diana forgets her words. Kate's eyes gleam with the soft changing lights beneath them. It makes her look ethereal and other-wordly, her skin almost glowing with the soft pastel color. Water beads cling to her skin and her hair frames her face in dark, wet tresses. She is hauntingly arresting, so much so it makes Diana's heartbeat echo inside her.

She leans toward her and her knuckles brush Kate's cheek, her breath warm on the pad of her thumb that brushes her lips. Kate shivers. Or Diana does. Someone shudders when Diana closes the distance and kisses her. 

The chill of the cave is stark against the warmth of Kate's mouth, such a small temperature difference that makes Diana's body tingle. She feels the fingers that brushed her cheek slide in her hair, against her scalp, and follows Kate as she leans back against the gentle slope behind her. Diana braces herself against the low edge of the slope, palms half beneath the small stream and flat against the cold rock while Kate snakes her arms around her and pulls her closer. 

The warmth of her body against her is comforting and inviting, nostalgic almost, but threatens to lull Diana into desires she isn't sure she should fall into yet. Kate's breathy laugh against her lips makes her stomach coil tight.

“You're being a little shy even though you're the one who brought me here,” she says and she holds Diana's face still, giving her soft, chaste kisses now, their noses brushing as she angles her head slightly. 

Diana's eyes are heavy lidded and she is all too conscious of each tiny peck of a kiss. Her words come shaky, floating delicately on a hushed whisper that threatens to peter out listlessly between their lips. 

“I want to take this further, Kate.” Her fingers just touch the corner of her lips. 

Kate laughs beneath her breath. “You can do whatever you like.” 

Diana steals her smile with a firmer kiss, warming faster than the last one until it burns so hot it almost sears. Kate’s hand slides through her hair once more, nails running along her scalp, tangling in the hair at the back of her head, before she wraps her elbow around the back of Diana's neck and pulls her closer. Diana's hand slips from her shoulder, collecting beads of water on its way down the smooth skin of her chest. Kate breathes, breaking the kiss momentarily, when Diana palms her breast and flicks a thumb over her nipple.

The air around is cool and chilly, but there is nothing but fire between them. Their skin is flushed and burning against each other. At the hand on her thigh, Kate hooks a leg around her waist and lifts her hips, letting Diana know what she wants now. Diana obliges. Kate has to suck in air, already too sensitive to keep teasing. Diana drops her head and focuses on the rhythm of her fingers between them that makes Kate move beneath her with soft moans and sighs.

Her fingers, now slick with her want, seek the heat within her. How is her voice so enticing when it carries no words? There is only the echo of water drops somewhere and the soft trickle of water beneath them at first before Kate's quiet moans mix in. Soon, all Diana can hear and feel is Kate. The way her chest heaves labored breath, how her back arches and her head tilts back exposing the length of her neck still glowing with jellyfish light. Diana places her mouth to the dip in her clavicle and feels her swallow. 

The thigh around her waist tenses, holds, and Kate curls forward and Diana can feel her teeth graze her shoulder when cries out. She stifles herself against Diana's shoulder. Her entire body clenches and stills Diana's hand. Her fingers dig into skin, tighter, and then finally loosen, finally relax, and lets go with an audible sigh. Diana kisses the wet hair by her temple. She can feel her still pulse around her fingers, still caught tight inside her. 

She tells her she's going to pull out but she isn't prepared for the sharp breath Kate takes when she does before she collapses again against the slope. Diana rests her head on her chest and listens to her ragged breath calm while the quiet seconds pass. 

“You're beautiful, Kate,” she says, laying tender kisses at the pulse on her neck. 

Kate's chest moves with a hoarse laugh.

“Sorry. It kills me you think so,” she says, covers her eyes and laughs again, almost embarrassed. “Every time you say it.”

She pulls herself up and the force of her kiss takes Diana by surprise. Kate has flipped them and before Diana knows it, she's on her back against the slope. She can feel the raw desire from her through her lips. Something inside Diana tightens.

“Kate.” 

Kate kisses her again, possessively, and a warm hand splayed just below her bellybutton. Diana tenses again, nearly squirms uncomfortably. She feels the caress across her abdomen, fingers tracing the muscle, and when she moves again, Kate holds her against her and slips her knee between her thighs, lets the weight of her thigh fall against her at an angle that teases but presses nothing directly. Then she fixes it, pulls her knee up, and pushes it into Diana. Diana gasps. Something's wrong. Her chest constricts. Her throat feels like it's swelling shut. She can't breathe.

“Wait, stop.”

She places her hands on Kate's shoulders and pushes against them. Diana doesn't know she's trembling until she sees her hands quiver against Kate's shoulders. Kate stops and lifts herself enough to look at her.

“What's wrong? Are you all right?” 

She swallows and shakes her head. Scared. She's scared. This is how it started last time. Feverish kisses, beneath a Kate focused on only one goal. This is how Kate dismantled her. Her breaths are short and quick, nearly painful. She tries to calm herself, places a hand on Kate's thigh and eases it from between hers. She's wary of how Kate looks at her so concerned, reminds herself she looks like this because she loves her and because she loves her, she wouldn't do that again. They talked about it. They reached an understanding. But she still trembles. 

“I can't.” she says, closing her eyes to focus on breathing, on regaining control. “I can't.” 

Kate lays beside her and pulls her into an embrace, stroking her hair with tender fingers, and whispering soft words in her ear. 

“It's all right, Diana. It's okay,” she says, but Diana can hear the hurt in her voice. “I'm not going to hurt you again.” 

“I know you won't. I know. I'm sorry.”

Kate shushes her, but Diana clutches her tightly and feels the walls still erected around her heart, understanding now that it's not so easy taking down defenses a heart constructs from fear. Kate cradles her and places soft kisses to her brow. Diana lets her, disappointed and frustrated that this safe and cared for feeling she has now had been too shy just moments before. She's upset with herself. She doesn't understand how her starved and sallow heart can still deny her what the rest of her wants. 

“I'm sorry. I don't understand.” 

“It just means you have something to feel through first, Diana. It's okay. It's normal.” 

“You're not worried?” 

“Not about us, no. Not about this.” 

Kate strokes her hair and holds her close until reason returns and Diana's thoughts turn to understanding. She whispers tender thanks that's affectionately hushed. They lay like this, in each other's arms, watching the dancing lights across the dark cave walls, until everything is all right again and long after. 

Diana knows now where she needs to take her next and twilight quickly approaches, but she allows herself five more quiet minutes here in this secret place in Kate's arms.

-

She pulls back some of the creeping vines and gently tears them away from the small stone statue and the marble base it stands on. Part of Diana is ashamed it has not been tended to long enough for the vines to grow so, but she knows how fast nature grows and how long the battle waged. The shame is unfounded. Still, it was one of the first things she had wanted to do at first chance and she felt she owed it not only to herself, but to her mother, both of them, and her sisters, as well as to the memories of those no longer with them. 

“At first, I thought you were bringing me to Doom's Door for some trouble,” Kate says with a half smile. 

She reaches over to help her uncover the rest of the monument. Her fingers brush the jungle debris from the writing on the marble slab and then pauses when she reads the name. Diana can read the surprise on her face, the shock in her eyes when she looks at her, and she can see the question caught on her tongue. Her eyes fall to the memorial and she cleans the rest of it with her palm flat against the cool marble. 

“Her name was Diana Rockwell Trevor. She crashed here on Themyscira long before her son was washed upon our shores,” Diana tells her, fingertips tracing the deep grooves of the lettering. 

“She died here?”

Diana nods and says, “Yes, defending the door with the four sentry. Philippus owes her life to her.”

“Her name, Diana, and then her son came as well,” Kate starts but then stops and Diana knows she is thinking the same thoughts Diana has thought often herself. “And he's the reason you left at all. You have her name, Diana!”

“I know what you're thinking, Kate,” she says. “It feels too much like convenience, I'm sure it's the work of gods. I'm still not sure if it was in humor or intentional, though many have told me their opinions on the matter.” 

Diana is quiet a moment, watching Kate as she processes. She wonders if Kate will think or say what they have told her, the idea that she and Steve were bound, soulmates in some way. It's not entirely untrue given the events, but it is not entirely true either, not in the way so many tell her it is and the confusion has caused them both a lot of grief. Diana wants to know what Kate thinks. It's a grief from the past that Diana has never thought necessarily would affect any relationship of her future, but that was before, when jealousy and insecurity were things she knew of but had never experienced because of ripened, irrational fear. 

She understands Etta's once-struggle with it now and she understands now, in light of what has happened between them, Kate needs to know before they can decide if and how they can move forward together. Kate's silence is longer than she finds comfortable, but she quells the urge to speak or reach over to touch her. If this blossoms a struggle or not, she doesn't want to assume. She wants to trust. After another moment, Kate blows out an even breath.

“And everyone's so damned fascinated with the perfection of you and Superman, or Batman even,” she says, but Diana can't tell if her half-laugh is genuine or self-deprecatory. “There was some buzz around you and Trevor when you first arrived, but I don't remember it lingering. If anyone else knew this, they'd never have shut up.” 

“Knowing what I do now of how romance and love is seen out there, I am a little surprised as well,” Diana says and lets herself smirk just a bit. “It's better no one knows, perhaps, except those who need to.” 

Kate asks a question that lightens Diana's heart to hear, because it's the better of the two questions she knows will come and the order of them is gravely important.

“You thought I needed to know?” Kate asks, but then nods her head after a thought and she speaks again, understanding now, exhibiting the Kate Kane who has swept her way into Diana's heart. “You knew I needed to know and that I needed to hear it from you.” 

“If you'd found out any other way, it might have unsettled you.” 

“It definitely would have before. I'd like to think I've learned to trust more now.” The small laugh Kate lets out is distinctly genuine and she says, “It's intimidating, sure. It's that idea of destiny and soulmates and meant to be. I'm not going to lie, Diana. Part of me's now wondering if eventually, you'll find your way to him, if you're supposed to.”

With a slow nod of her head, Diana folds her arms across her chest and studies the wording on the epitaph. _Diana Rockwell Trevor who stood her ground until the last._

“That's what Etta told Steve when he told her,” she says and then catches Kate's curious expression. “Etta is his wife, Kate. They married a few years after I returned him to her. If you require someone to speak with about this, she would be my best suggestion.”

Kate stares at her for an uncomfortable minute and then she asks the second question Diana knows is coming, but takes comfort in the fact that it comes last, because it means it's less important to her than understanding and recognizing why Diana has brought her here. It suggests it's less threatening.

“Did you ever have feelings? Either of you?” 

Diana smiles, wishes she can make all her love known in that one lift of her lips. Now she reaches over and takes Kate's hand, finds her skin oddly cool and holds it firm until it warms and their temperatures match. 

“I could have, in the way you are asking me, perhaps I did at some point,” she says, truthfully, “but those kinds of feelings are too simplistic for what I feel for him now. I do believe he and I are bonded, that were I lucky enough to have a next life, he will be in that one as well in some capacity. Maybe as a lover then. Or perhaps as my horse.”

Kate almost sniggers at the suggestion and squeezes her hand. 

“I would welcome his presence as either were that the case,” Diana continues, catching her eye now. “In this life, however, I don't want for Steve in the same way I need you, Kate. I know he lives and he is well and that is all I require to feel sated when we aren't near. With you, I worry and feel without. I don't know how I can help you understand the difference.”

It surprises her when Kate offers a brilliant smile. She had expected more tense words and difficult explanation to transpire before being able to see such a smile and her eyebrow queries silently. 

“I have a twin, Diana. I think I understand,” Kate tells her and looks back down at the memorial, her face cast in melancholy and fondness. “I don't know if I believe in next lives, but if there is one for me, I know Beth'll be in it.”

Diana is almost stunned. It had not occurred to her before, the similarity of feeling Kate feels with her sister, something closer than blood, more intimate than mere romance. A bond, welcome and fulfilling in its own unique way that only Beth's soul can provide. Kate understands such a thing is possible. Diana had worried Kate didn't understand the extent of a pair bond and what that might possibly mean for them, even beyond this life, for eternity, because eternity is incomprehensibly long and unpredictable, but now she sees how she underestimated her. Gravely. Kate understands. And she said yes. 

If Diana had not been sure before, she is now. She wants Kate. In this life, in the possible next, in however many that may follow, in however many ways allowed. She wants the comfort of Kate's presence for eternity. She wants terribly to kiss her, but doesn't let herself, wanting more time to soak in this certainty. How long she's been aching to feel again, a solid foundation beneath her. 

Before they leave, she catches the look of admiration in Kate's eyes when she reaches over and thumbs the name she shares with a woman pilot who perished in this very spot, helping strangers fight monsters no human had known existed then. Diana knows, if she brought Kate here before, the conversation would have ended much differently. They are different people now. She has never felt this amount of trust between them before, not even just hours ago when all she wanted was to feel Kate's body as close as possible against her in the cave lit by jellyfish light. Unlike that moment, Diana feels the eagerness inside her welcome this humbling trust into her swollen heart and lets it smolder.

“Do you think you feel this way about Steve and me about Beth because we bonded with them in some life we can't remember?” Kate asks her as they step back onto the sunny path alight with a patchwork pattern of sunlight streaming through the trees.

“I couldn't say for sure, but it's more than possible,” Diana tells her, feeling Kate take her hand again.

“Do you think we will feel that way about each other if we're bonded?” 

“I want to believe we will, Kate. I want that more than anything else in this life.” 

She feels her squeeze her hand once more. 

“Me too.” 

With those words, Diana has never felt so beautiful or wanted and the simmer in her heart ignites into a fire she yearns to make into a welcoming hearth all but ready to receive Kate once more without reservation.

-

Surprisingly, the talk over dinner this night is helmed by Philippus and beneath her guidance, it is every bit an interrogation as it would have been under Hippolyta. Philippus is calmer and she exercises tact with delicate subjects, but tackles others with a directness, the exact opposite in which her wife would have handled things. Diana finds humor in how amused Kate is with them and cannot quell the need for contact. She reaches over and tucks strands of her rich hair behind an ear and smiles when the touch rewards her with a glance of spring green eyes.

“It's nice to see you two at each other's throat in tenderness again instead of anger,” Philips says and spears a seasoned olive sautéed with sweet bell peppers. “I'm glad your talks have proven fertile.”

Diana ignores the warmth on her own cheeks, dazzled more by the small tint of color that comes across Kate. Every blush from Kate, she knows, while easy for the three at this table who dine with her, is actually hard earned by anyone else in her life. It's a fact Diana relishes. 

“I'd understand 'fruitful', Philippus, but 'fertile' seems an odd way to say that,” Kate says, “Perverted, anyway. Maybe inaccurate?”

Philippus only catches Kate's attention and smirks and everyone at the table knows she'd meant it that way. 

“You love a woman born of the love of two women and you say I'm inaccurate?” 

Hippolyta and Diana have the same laugh almost, evident now while they both let themselves enjoy the comment. Kate really flushes and then admits defeat with two raised palms her way, taking her blush with impressive stride. 

“You got me there.” All too casually, she sips from her glass of wine. “If I could take advantage of this fertility, general, I would knock up your daughter first chance I could. Don't think I wouldn't want to.”

The silence that follows is one whose shock has lost its vision of itself. It doesn't know if it should be scandalized, delighted, or uncomfortable and because of this, Diana isn't sure how to respond. Her mother and Philippus are unreadable and they glance at each other as if trying to gauge from the other how they should feel. Diana looks at Kate for much the same reason. Kate shrugs and breaks the silence. 

“What?” she asks them with a little embarrassed offense and looks at the queen instead of returning Diana's gaze. “I know for sure you've thought of little amazons running about long before I ever showed up.” 

Philippus is the first to nod and rejoin Kate in eating. “She's not wrong, Lyta.” 

Hippolyta lightly chuckles now and says, “Of course she's not wrong. I'm her mother. Mothers think such things.” 

Diana is painfully aware how they all wait for her response. Without acknowledging any of them, she lifts a bite of fish to her lips.

“I'm glad and relieved our talks have gone well too, Philippus,” she says to all three of them and gives the bite a quick blow. “I imagine any future talks will be just as fertile when the time for them arises, which is not this precise moment.”

With that, she has closed the topic for further public discussion, sees the proud way Kate smirks to herself. The retort had robbed Philippus of the win, a feat she can see Kate is proud of, and Diana had robbed her mother of the discussion Kate's win detoured to. As a pair, they had won and now she shares in the same pride. 

Hippolyta gives Philippus a playful glance as she sips her wine and says, “Beloved, I'm afraid we sit today and all our tomorrows across from a formidable pair.”

“It would seem so, my queen.”   
-

Diana sits on a soft padded loveseat made of dark cherrywood timber that has recently been introduced to the island. On their way to her bedroom, Kate had been stopped and informed that Raedne and Derinoe had inquired of her while they had been gone and she's stepped out for a moment to speak with them. Diana takes in the moon while she muses on this. Kate has amazon friends. Her mothers love her. She's learned amazon customs and isn't afraid to utilize any that may benefit her. She knows the feeling bubbling inside her is joy. Were Diana anyone else, she wonders if they could have a fulfilling life here. 

The thought remains unfinished when the door opens and she sees Kate step inside and close it behind her. She knows the last Kate spoke with Raedne was not great, but she doubted the woman remembered nor cared about any negative feelings that may have cropped up. Still, the small relief in Kate is evident as she makes her way across the room, gently fingering the silver guard she still wears. The sight of it makes Diana ashamed of how naked her hand feels and her fingers almost twitch. 

“You were right. Raedne gave two shits,” Kate tells her. 

She carelessly lets her sandals slip from her feet as she walks. Diana stands and meets her halfway and without a word changes their direction to the bed, letting her get all the words out she can. 

“I didn't think she would, but it wouldn't have felt right if I didn't at least say sorry.”

“You are very honorable like that,” Diana says, brushing rusty red hair from her shoulders. She runs her fingers through the locks, fingertips gliding along her scalp, and feels her relax at the touch with her eyes closed.

“You're the only one who's ever thought that. It's nice. I want you to keep thinking that.” 

Diana remembers how Kate's skin glowed pastel and the warmth of her body chased away the chill of the damp cave air. She remembers how full her heart felt standing next to her as they both gazed into the memory of Diana Rockwell Trevor and what her legacy meant for her son and namesake. She remembers how proud Kate looked at their dinner table win. Everything inside her wants everything Kate. She kisses her. 

“Make love to me, Kate.” 

Kate's eyelashes brush against hers when they flutter open.

“But this afternoon-” 

Diana touches her cheek and kisses her softly once more, whispering.

“One more try, my love.”

She doesn't have to ask again. She guides them both down to the bed. 

They take their time undressing as if it is a first time with new understanding. Unlike the jellyfish cave that afternoon, there is no goal here, no expectation of how this should feel or how it shouldn't. Kate is tender and sweet. Her touches ask silent questions and listen carefully for answers. Is this all right? Here? She slides down the length of her body and eases herself between her legs. Here as well? 

She stiffens and gasps in surprise just once when Kate's fingers join her mouth and ask to push in, but relaxes and shakes her head with a smile. It's all right. I'm all right. Don't stop. There is love inside her again, her heart overflows with trust, and she has removed every wall erected and opened every closed door that hid truth from her. 

Diana refuses them nothing this time. She opens herself up and lets Kate in. 

 

Continued…


	18. Folie a Deux pt 1

Athena finds Artemis on the hunt. She has the stag in sight now and crouches low, crawling slowly to a better position. The young goddess makes no indication she knows Athena is near when she draws her bow and takes aim before pulling back the arrow with steady arms. Artemis lets the arrow fly and it finds the heart of the stag. He feels only a pinch, like the bite of a tick, and then he's gone. She comes to kneel beside him thanking his spirit for the worthy hunt before it leaves the body completely.

“Impressive,” Athena observes out loud. “Your skill with the bow has improved since the last time I saw it.” 

“I was a child you were teaching to draw an arrow then,” Artemis says calmly closing the eyes of the stag. “Even younger the last time you came on a hunt. What brings you here now?” 

“Have you been checking up on Diana as of late?” Athena asks and takes a small step back to give her room when Artemis lifts the stag onto her shoulder. 

“I have not.” 

“Is it because you still mourn the connection you felt to her?” 

Artemis pauses for a second before she begins to lead them through the forest, the blood of the stag still warm and flowing, runs down her back and stains her garments. Athena follows beside her. Neither goddess leaves a trace of their foot prints or a sound in the air as they walk. 

“Sometimes,” Artemis answers her truthfully and readjusts the stag on her shoulders. “It's a bit odd. I felt a little without when I gave her that piece of me and now that I have that bit back, I still feel without. It's a much more lonely without though my aura is complete again.” 

“I feel the same, little hunter.” 

“Had we failed her, Athena?” Artemis asks her. “I find myself wondering that. Had it been our failing from the start to even think she'd need our gifts when she is fine without?”

There is a silence that spooks Artemis some and she gathers the nerve to sneak a peek at Wisdom beside her. She pauses when she sees the small smile curl on her lips and her cool gray eyes settle on her. It's a look of almost humbled pride and it makes her stop in her tracks, the red blood on her back rapidly cooling just as the body it spills from. 

“My apologies, Artemis,” Athena says with near reverence. “I had not paid you enough attention to notice when you stopped being a child and became my coequal instead.” 

A flush colors Artemis' face and she huffs and looks away, continuing down the path she can see and leaves Athena and her laughter to follow or not. Since her goodbye to Pallas, the sound of her laugh has become more frequent and while it's still strange to hear, it's starting to ease into something normal. 

“Diana is fine without us, yes,” Athena says as she comes back in step beside her. “I wonder the same of us without her.”

“I don't have the wisdom to say,” Artemis tells her. 

“Nor do I.” Athena muses for a moment and ignores the small glance that earns her. “The trial was difficult and her success in it was always uncertain, but I do not believe we failed her or that she ever failed us. Perhaps, if anything, our failing is in not giving her the choice in the first place.”

Artemis pauses and then says, “And now?”

“Now, it is no one's choice but her own.” Athena reaches over and lifts the stag from Artemis' shoulder, shushing her quietly when she protests. She heaves the beast on to her own shoulder and the cold blood soaks her almost immediately. “It is my hope she chooses to keep us.” 

She offers a small smile that Artemis finds herself returning and then the two begin walking again. 

“I hope that as well, Athena.” 

“I have come to ask you. If Diana and Kate were to ask for the bond still, would you wish to be the one to bestow it?” 

Now Artemis does something that surprises Athena. She laughs. She pats Athena's arm now slick with stag blood, but then wraps her fingers around and gently holds on. 

“If she decides we are worthy of her still,” she says, “and if they decide they still seek the bond, then I will think on it.”

-

**Wayne Manor, Gotham  
Years ago**

The name Wayne has been synonymous with philanthropy since before a young Martha Kane met a young, self-proclaimed combat medic in the backyard of her family's country estate trying to save Jacob Kane's leg from imagined amputation. Thomas Wayne had a bandana tied around the bottom half of his face to mimic a surgical mask, but it made him look more like those evil bandits on Lone Ranger. Thomas had just turned nine that year. She was halfway to seven. 

Her presence on the battlefield annoyed her brother, but even at that tender age, Martha had not been afraid to deliver the message entrusted solely to her. She was like that, see. Ever seeking and taking pride in having responsibility, especially of people. Despite being younger, there were times she even out older sibling'd Jacob. 

“Mommy wants you,” she'd said, much too cooly for a six year old.

Thomas had refused to break character. If the medical field hadn't called him so strongly, he may have pursued the spotlight on stage. He blinked thoughtlessly for a moment, felt his patient move beneath his hand, then pushed him back down.

“Stop it, Thomas, my mom's calling. Let me up,” Jacob said, but Thomas's eyes had widened and he looked from Jacob to Martha and back again. 

“You see her too? The angel calling you?” he asked.

“What?” 

“The angel sent by Mary to take you to heaven?” 

At this point, the Kane siblings were sure he'd gone mad, even if Martha had been too young to know the right word for it. Instead, Thomas, who had always been prone to theatrics just as his son will be after him, had whispered another phrase, much more complicated, and from a language she would grow up to study until fluent. 

“ _Folie à deux._ ” Thomas' expression had turned serious and he wielded his stick-scalpel. “No choice now. The leg's gotta go. This is gonna hurt me more than it's gonna hurt you, Pt. Kane.” 

While he was being scolded by his mother for dawdling when called, Jacob glared daggers at Thomas who was standing at the doorway giggling with Martha. 

Years later, after Martha and Thomas wed, their first year anniversary gift to each other was to hold an elaborate multi-functional fundraiser. The first had been to provide financial support to a grand vision, an asylum meant to revolutionize how mental illnesses were approached and treated afflicted minds that was to be called Arkham. They had affectionately, and more appropriately than they would ever realize, called the philanthropy project _Folie à Deux._ They celebrated every year of their marriage with a _Folie à Deux_ fundraiser and it has become a tradition their son has continued in their absence. 

This year would have marked their 30th anniversary. 

-

**Wayne Manor, Gotham  
Now**

If there is one thing Kate remembers about her aunt Martha, it's her string of pearls. She had a long string of them she cherished, a present from her boys one birthday, picked out special by her son and wrapped lovingly by her husband. She wore them every chance she had. Kate remembers when a young Bruce demanded to be let back into crime alley with the chalk outlines of his parents bodies stark white on the cement to search for every single pearl that had scattered when the pearl necklace was torn from her neck. 

They've never spoken of it and Kate isn't sure when he stopped, but she knows for years after, Bruce carried a single pearl in his pocket everywhere he went. 

This is why, standing before the customized collection of pearl jewelry laid out nicely on Bruce's dining room table, Kate gapes at him. 

“Bruce, these were your mom's.” 

He gives a slow nod and then folds his arms neatly across his chest and takes the time to scan the collection one piece at a time. She can see a glint of approval in his eye as he assesses perhaps for the hundredth time each custom piece. A pair of earrings where the pearls dangle freely inside intricate metal cradles, brooches both extravagant and sleek, cufflinks, tie pins, and necklaces. 

“You know what the 30th wedding anniversary is?” he asks.

“Yeah. It's the pearl anniversary. I know.”

“I'd like to think she would have liked her pearls to go to people she cared about, who she called family and those she called friends, especially if it helps get Arkham where they wanted it to be,” he says and then walks around the end of the table to stand beside her. “We've had our issues between us, Kate, but Mom loved you. It wouldn't be right if you didn't have something of hers.”

She considers this for a moment while she scans the Martha Wayne collection one more time. There is gratitude on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it, because she knows this is kind of his way of apologizing, not for the issues which still exist between them, but for the fact that these exist at all. Kate reaches over and selects a pair of earrings, sleek in design, a single pearl in each dangling from a delicate line of linked gold runs. He nods his approval and then an uncharacteristically awkward silence settles.

“You're not wearing that guard on your hand anymore,” he says finally. “You and Diana-?” 

“Are just fine, thank you,” she says, turning to face him suspiciously while leaning a hip against the table. “Her guard was damaged in the battle and I didn't want to wear mine un-partnered. Don't read too much into it, Bruce.” 

Another awkward moment passes while he nods again. Then he fishes a small box from his pocket, too small to hold any single piece of this collection, not even the lovely rings. He opens the box and sets it on the table beside her. Kate glances at it, up at him, and then back down again.

“As we discussed. Don't read too much into it, Kate,” he says echoing her words back at her, then slides the box closer to her. “Think of it as you're just holding on to it for now.”

Kate feels her eyes well, but she blinks them away, nods gravely, and then picks up the box. She snaps it shut without another word and slips it into her bag. Then she clears her throat and turns to follow him out of the room.

“So,” she says, playfully linking an elbow with his because she knows how it aggravates him. “Does this mean we're going to be the chummy thick-as-thieves cousins we once were in our childhood, Bruce?” 

The gruff way he clears his throat makes her chuckle. 

“We stopped being chummy when you stole Cynthia Wilcox.” 

“That's how you look back on that?” she asks and pats his back. “It's so much nicer thinking that the same lovely prep school girl ended up being both our first official girlfriends.” 

He rolls his shoulder to nudge her hand from his back and says, “I saw her first.” 

“Yes, but I had her last.” 

Now he chuckles and his hands slide into his pockets as they disappear down the hall. 

“Nice guys always did finish last.”

“Oh ho, big talk, cousin. Finishing first is exactly what drove all those women away from your bed and into mine.” 

Kate catches the smirk that comes of his face, a tiny glimpse into the boy she'd once known, before his parents were murdered, and it makes her feel warm with fondness. He used to be cocky and clever and the two of them bled sarcasm and fantastic fibs to get themselves out of trouble with Alfred. They would have gotten away with nearly anything if Beth hadn't been so damned honest.

For the first time in over a decade, both of their laughs echo through the empty corridors of Wayne Manor, calling out to memories of a time when the manor could barely contain the devilish charms of two competitive cousins who were always too alike and too different in all the wrong ways. 

-

In the two weeks since their return, Diana has come alive in a way Kate has never seen. She replaced her clinic visits with volunteer sessions at various shelters and support meetings. At first, it was to listen to struggles she knew nothing about, but it quickly became a place she found a natural belonging. She does not give advice nor intervenes unless directly asked, but she sits and listens, offers a safe ear to vent, warm arms to console, and a genuine heart to love. 

When she returns, Kate can often see she'd shed tears, but her heart is so full with feeling, it's almost bursting. Soon, Diana is being called frequently by several agencies, police precincts, social workers, psychologists, even small asylums for children and adults of specialized linguistic and behavioral needs. She is not afraid to sit beside the hardest to reach or most physically dangerous. She is not afraid of running out of patience or losing her temper, of flying fists, mucus-filled spittle, or any other vulgar bodily fluid one can use as a weapon to frighten her off. She is never frightened or angered by the vicious words or threats, no matter how lewd or salacious, and she never leaves before her allotted time with them. 

Kate worries, but says nothing when she comes home with wet hair because she'd needed to wash off some other grossness. She worries, but keeps it to herself because every day, Diana takes another shower, in their home, with the shampoo and conditioner that smell comforting and familiar. When she emerges, she looks renewed, like being caressed by the Nereids and restored, and Kate feels so much love coming from her that she swears even Oscar looks a little more plump and healthy just basking in the glow of it.

Holding in her worry seems to magnify it and it comes out in ridiculous ways about ridiculous things. When Diana stepped too close to a curb as a car sped by, she'd yanked her away. When she caught her city gazing at night on the roof of their building with her legs over the edge, she'd panicked and asked her to bring her legs back up. She would always force a laugh at Diana's sharp looks to quiet the panic and remind herself how irrational she was being. 

It's okay. It's fine, she'd tell herself. She's fine.

But then Diana began fussing after Kate's safety and Kate's laughter became genuine amusement, especially when they disagreed on what was safe for whom and why not. She can't help it. Diana fussing over her is so darling it tickles her dead. How did this precious woman ever make her way into her life?

-

The construction site looks all but abandoned since Cobblepot's access to Catherine's money dried up. It looks exactly like the last time Batwoman saw it, gutted with exposed framework and wiring left with only plastic sheeting loosely covering it. 

In their absence, the whole Batfamily had successfully returned almost all the missing LR-55s to Hamilton Industries save for one that was unfortunately picked up by a no-name small fry who'd happened to be in the right place at the right time. Tim and Barbara have made the security system the cyberspace version of Fort Knox and Penguin's construction site has experienced a complete stopping of all progress. Barbara had begun to explain, but Batwoman had only paid attention half the time and waved off the other half. All she cares about now is that his hands are no longer dipping into her step-mother's wallet.

Batwoman kneels at the far end of the fake hotel hallway and places a C-4 charge on the wall, aligning the blasting cap to arm it, and then moves on back through the hall.

“We decided it this way because I've already been here,” she says into the com link as she sets another charge at the end of the hall on the thick vault doors beside the receptionist's desk. “It's just me and the C-4 down here and we're both fine. You're needlessly worrying.” 

“Not unlike how you worry about me using your grappling hook and used that as an argument to keep me up here.” 

Diana's voice comes through with minimal electronic disturbance through the comm. There is some commotion with her last words that catches Batwoman's ears. She stops to listen for a moment before heading back to the open elevator door where her grappling gun is still suspended, the line already running through the escape door and attached to the top of the shaft. 

“Sounds like trouble's found you,” she says as she sets the last charge on the wall of the elevator. “You all right up there?” 

“Yes. I'm fine. You are the one needlessly worrying now, Batwoman.” 

Batwoman smirks and fishes the small detonator the length of her thumb from her utility belt, takes firm hold of her grappling gun. 

“Have I told you how much I like you like this, Double-You?” 

“You like me fussing at you?” Diana asks and from the small exertion in her voice, it's clear she is presently engaged. 

“Especially right now.” 

“Then, no, you have never told me that, Double-Kay.” 

The way Diana accents the nickname with the same intonation she used makes the smirk on Batwoman's face widen into a grin. She clicks the reel of the grapple, counts the seconds, and then presses the detonator before letting it drop from her hands.

“Shame on me then. How about I take you out to dinner sometime?” she says just as the first explosive goes off. 

“Did you just set the timers on the charges while you were still in the elevator shaft?” 

“What answer would you like to hear right now?” 

“Batwoman.” 

Batwoman waits until the next one goes off before she responds, their connection clearing noticeably as she nears the open door above. She cuts her line and lets her upward momentum carry her the rest of the distance where she can arc cleanly through the opening and land clear on the ground floor. She latches her grapple to her belt and takes off running through the half-finished building. She's given herself a ten minute window to clear each charge before it detonates. 

“The sooner, the better you said,” she says, breaking through the doors and out into the night. Her bike is only fifty yards away. The entire structure is beginning to crumble in on itself and the noise almost drowns out Diana's voice in her ear.

“Batwoman!” 

“It's fine! I'm fine. I'm out of danger and headed your way,” Batwoman says and dismisses Diana's fussing as she hops on her bike. The kickstand is back, the wheels burn with a sharp shriek on cement, and the bike shoots forward. 

“Yes,” Diana says, “on a motorcycle that threw you into oncoming traffic a week ago. I'm only glad your suit protected your skin from road rash.” 

The streetlights above flash by equidistant, each lone light swallowing the headlight of her bike for a fraction of a second. Batwoman tucks her head low behind the windshield and chuckles. 

“Are you fretting about me like this more because you know what level of pain I feel now?” The distinct echo of a gunshot crackles in her earpiece and Batwoman's heart almost stops. “Diana?” 

There's a moment of static before Diana answers and Batwoman's heart resumes its functions.

“Are you worried about me more because I can feel that same level of pain now?” 

“You're awfully cheeky tonight.” 

“I thought you said you liked me like this.” 

Batwoman grins behind the windshield and leans into a sharp corner before speeding off again.

-

Diana comes alive in the Gotham twilight. The intermittent spark of gunfire lights up the claustrophobic alley and her eyes catch the glow of each fired bullet, gleaming just for that moment before she's gone from the gunman's sight once more. Batwoman sits comfortably on a fire escape and allows herself the pleasure of just watching Diana work. Her confidence has sharpened and her precision has become focused. She is damn near perfect. 

Diana is in the middle of disarming a group of young thugs who carry the last of the missing LR-55s. They're kids really, a few years out of high school maybe, who were just in the right place at the right time when they got their hands on the automatic rifle. Kate feels the pride bubble warm inside her chest. This is Diana, her Diana, affectionately known across the globe as Wonder Woman. This is her heart owning that moniker and reminding her and the rest of the world exactly why they call her that. 

A bullet ricochets off Diana's bracer and wedges itself in the brick near Batwoman's head. She glances over her shoulder at the smashed pellet wedged in its crater.

“Cut that a little close there, Double-You,” she says and catches Diana's smirk before she lunges forward and ducks beneath the fist of a frightened youth and he stumbles passed her, tripping over his own feet.

“Did that little bullet make you nervous, Batwoman?”

“Wouldn't call it your cleanest deflection.” 

The youth falls hard on the cement and he and most of his friends scatter while Diana straightens from her low crouch. 

“Your criticism is noted,” she says.

The gunman is the last of his friends to remain. He braces the rifle against his shoulder and shouts something filthy. It makes Batwoman's eyebrow arch. The mouth on some of the youths now, she thinks. She can tell by the way Diana's eyes zero in on him like a hawk spying a mouse that the altercation is already over. He just doesn't know it yet. Batwoman places her elbow on the metal fire escape and rests her chin in her hand.

“Let me tell you something, kid,” she says,

His eyes flick her way, concentrating, nervous, before returning to Diana who merely stands. She holds him in a gaze that glues his feet to asphalt. The gun he holds in his hand in her direction in a lazily outstretched arm gives a rattle once.

“You see that look?” Kate nods toward Diana's simmering disapproval. “If you ever put a look like that on a woman's face, you'd better run or start apologizing.”

The kid is confused but scowls through it. At least he would have if he had the time. With a quick rush toward him, Diana sidesteps the barrel of the rifle, placing a hand flat and tight on the tip of it. She palms the bottom of the grip below his hand and with a swift jerk of both hands on opposite ends, she twists the rifle cleanly out of his grip. He backs up so fast, his sneakers catch on concrete crumbs and he tumbles backwards. 

She catches him at the wrist with one hand and pitches the rifle to Batwoman who catches it cleanly, discharges the magazine, and pops the bullet from the chamber before swiftly disassembling it into smaller, manageable parts. Diana returns her attention to the young man she still holds two inches from the ground. She pulls him to his feet and steadies him with calm hands on his shoulders.

“Go find your friends now,” she says, her voice low and ambiguously threatening. One hand holds him still and the other straightens the crumpled hood of his pullover. “Before I decide I'd like to hear this apology.” 

Everything about that moment makes everything inside Batwoman curl with want. She wants to call it an early night. She wants to pull her Wonder Woman into her shower, her bed, by those hands, and draw out that voice from her again. Batwoman tilts her head in her hand and chides herself. Entirely inappropriate, she thinks. 

When Diana's grip loosens, he's gone, out of the alley and around the corner. The sound of his footsteps are quickly joined by a few others, his brave friends who lingered to watch. Their voices carry through the fading light victoriously. _I can't believe you stood up to them both like that! You even fired on the Wonder Woman!_

Well, at least, he has friends, Batwoman thinks to herself, picking up the pieces of the Fifty-Five S and standing from her perch on the metal steps. She steps around the landing to the ladder and kicks it down. 

“It almost looked like you were having fun there,” she says as Diana climbs up and she offers a hand until it is noticed. “The Kane heiress rubbing off on you a little too much lately?” 

Batwoman hears it as soon as Diana's eyes meet hers. Well, so much for keeping it in her pants. She says nothing to excuse herself, but quirks an eyebrow to temper her shrug. Diana's eyes flick down to the hand she still offers and then back up and then the corners of her lips lift lightly. She slips her hand in hers and Batwoman pulls her up onto the landing, stepping back to give her room. 

It's not quite enough space to be casual, but it's also too much to be intimate, caught somewhere in the awkward in-between. Diana steps forward to halve the distance and slaughter the awkward, lips curving into a roguish smile, and then takes deliberate slow steps around Batwoman to the first flight of metal steps. 

“She does sometimes,” Diana says, her voice low and hushed as she passes, “but I would never call it too much.”

She takes to the steps as if nothing has happened at all. Despite the quick flash of heat that flushes through her, Batwoman reaches out and grabs hold of her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. It makes Diana stop to look down at her over her shoulder and Batwoman only stares back up at her for a moment. Then she smirks.

“I'm available anytime it's ever not enough then,” she says. “Can't imagine a party girl like that would ever satisfy a woman like you.” 

“And you are suggesting you would?” 

Diana's eyes alight with something that can only be described as spirited, like a shadow of challenge flickering behind her gaze. Batwoman knows that look and what it means. 

“I'm suggesting I could,” she says. “I offer only out of concern for your well-being.” 

The way Diana laughs and gently pulls her wrist free from her grasp does little to deter Batwoman who is enjoying this far too much. She leans against the railing and folds her arms, watching as Batwoman ascends the steps to occupy the other side of the stairwell directly opposite her. 

“Thank you for your concern, Batwoman,” Diana says, “but I'm quite satisfied and you are aiming a bit higher than your reach.”

Batwoman smiles, unlatches her grappling gun from her belt, and shows it to her. 

“There's no height in Gotham I can't reach, bat charmer,” she says. “So, since you won't let me take you to dinner, how about letting me give you back these roofs?”

Across the alley, from an open window above them, a woman in a bathrobe with her hair twisted up in a towel, leans over her window sill and flicks bright ash from the end of her cigarette. 

“You Bat types are all alike, you know that?” she calls down to them in a hoarse voice that makes them look up at her. “That woman said she's spoken fer, so you better respect that already.” 

A few windows over, another older female voice cackles, coughs violently, and then leans back inside to spit in her sink. 

“Oh, pipe down, Agnes, I was enjoying the show. Since it's Saturday, all the soaps ain't running.”

Agnes sneers. “You pipe down, Beatrice. Don't you got no respect? That's Wonder Woman down there that Bat's tryna seduce.” 

“Ain't no harm in talking, is there? I don't see that rich Kane girl out here fighting crime like Red Bat here.” 

“Batwoman,” Batwoman corrects, but neither of them are listening. 

While the women argue, Batwoman and Diana laugh because the flirtatious mood is gone and they both refuse to let it be replaced by embarrassment. Diana turns to take to the steps one more time, waving to Agnes and thanking her for her assist, then assuring her she had the situation under control. 

“Gotta watch out for them dark James Dean types, Wondy. More trouble'n they're worth,” Agnes calls after them and her skepticism is highlighted by a suspicious glance toward Batwoman when she follows too closely. Batwoman pauses with lifted hands, lets Diana gain more distance, and then resumes following when Agnes approves.

“Thanks for your input, ladies.” Batwoman chuckles as she hauls herself onto the roof and then gives them a wave goodnight. “I'll take it from here.” 

As they disappear from their sight, walking to the other side of the building, they can still hear the women's voices hollering last minute tidbits of wisdom amidst their squabbling. Batwoman places her gloved palm to her forehead and shakes her head. 

“Can't even flirt without someone's running commentary,” she says, but she's smiling softly before she catches Diana eyes on her. 

“Were you serious about that?” she asks.

Diana's gaze flicks to the grappling hook in her hand and then back to her and it makes Batwoman straighten. The moment is gone and now it's no longer fun and flirty or devastatingly romantic. She feels just a little silly, but she places the hook on her palm and displays it for her. 

“It's not flying. I'm not saying it'll be anything like it,” she says with a shrug, “but it's the closest I can   
give you, Diana.”

-

An hour later, after the LR-55s is safely stowed away for delivery later, Diana watches as Batwoman explains the mechanism of her grappling gun. The concept is easy enough, but she appreciates the insight of experience that explains the nuances of technique, the timing of the reel, how to know when to release and when not to stick a safe landing. 

“The first jerk can be hard to get used to, but if you don't use your chest and biceps, it'll dislocate your shoulder,” Batwoman says, turning the grappling gun over to show her the molded grip. “The reel is fast, but if you don't do the calculations before each fire, it won't reel you in fast enough to miss a lower obstacle. So, count the seconds if you have to and press the reel before you jump.” 

Diana sandwiches her hand and the grapple between hers and steps closer, speaking low enough for no one else to hear.

“I understand, Kate,” she says, her words warm against her cheek. “I don't have to if it worries you so much.” 

Batwoman huffs, but she feels the anxiety pinching inside her. 

“No, I want to give this to you,” she says, shaking her head.

After another moment, she lets Diana take the grappling gun from her and then after another silent breathe, leads her to the edge of the roof. It's the same rooftop she and Sir scouted out the first time Kate attempted a swing all those years ago because there was a shorter building that ran beside it that would be a nice landing free of wiring and antennae. She points to the next building over to a gargoyle that crouches on a corner buttress.

“It's just one story up and nothing in between. Easy three-second count,” she says, forcing her voice even. “I'll be right there on the other side if anything happens.” 

“You aren't all right with this. I can see how scared you are,” Diana says. “And if anything does happen, because you say you'll be right there, I'm afraid you'll blame yourself even more.” 

“That just means we both need you to do this regardless of how I feel then.” Batwoman smiles now, still a little shaky, but more confident. “It's an irrational fear, I know, you being hurt. You're asking me to trust you enough to let you go and I'm asking you to trust me enough to be okay doing that. That's how this is supposed to work, right?” 

“Yes, you're right.” Diana nods. “In the same way we trust any other comrade. You're right, Kate.” 

“Good. Okay.” Batwoman breathes and unlatches the grappling hook from her belt. “Catch you on the other side then.”

She turns, fires off a line, and then leaps off, making the swing beautifully and timing the reel perfectly to land on the gargoyle's wide ledge. She turns back to spy Diana on the roof, the white stripe of her boots the most visible part of her. She flips on her night vision and lets herself adjust before watching Diana approach the edge. She hates the way her heart drums with an anxiety too close to panic. Relax. She's Wonder Woman. You didn't have this problem when you weren't sleeping with her. She's fine. She'll be fine. 

Still, Batwoman feels her heart pump when Diana takes aim. The harsh sound of the grappling hook anchoring into the cement above her makes her teeth grind and she holds her breath as she steps off, gripping the borrowed grapple tight just in case. The angle is good. The arc is perfect. Batwoman frowns. Too fast. Diana's set the reel too high. She latches the grapple quickly, positions herself just where Diana comes in fast, her blue eyes locked just on her. Diana is smiling and Batwoman's small anxiety dissolves. The metal grates with a twang when Diana cuts the line just as she places her foot on the ledge and Batwoman catches her in her arms, yanking her close before her momentum can slam her into the wall.

Diana laughs in her ear, her heart pounding in her chest against Batwoman, in time with her own anxious heartbeat. 

“Mazel tov,” Batwoman whispers, because her voice hasn't caught up with her heart yet. “How was it? Not exactly flying, huh?” 

“Not exactly like flying, no, but it's strangely thrilling and exciting,” Diana says still catching her breath and steadying herself against Batwoman. Her whole being feels lighter almost, enchanted even. 

“Good. I'm glad.” 

Diana steps from Batwoman's arms and glances back at the distance she just crossed and looks impressed and maybe even a little proud of herself. 

“And you do that every night,” she says in wonder. She glances over her shoulder at her and gives Batwoman that smile that makes her puddle. “Thank you, Kate. It was wonderful.” 

Batwoman steps forward, holds her face in her gloved hands, and kisses her. Because she can. Because there is no Agnes here to scold her. Because there is no fear inside anymore to stop her. She just wants to stay here and make out with Wonder Woman a few minutes longer. How's that for your soaps daily, Beatrice? 

 

Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side stories in this universe I want to explore now: the misadventures of Young Bruce and Kate, adventures of Thomas and Martha Wayne's wholesome love affair, Pallas and Athena: what eons cannot erase, Orithia and Anaea: the woman who lost paradise and the woman who waits. what is my life?


	19. Folie a Deux pt 2

The ballroom and the rest of the house is decorated in creamy whites and off-whites with pearlescent accents and every table set for dining is adorned with two tints of pale blue table covers overlaying a layer of ivory and topped with a center piece of white lilies draped with strings of small pearls. Kate notices Selena consider one of the center pieces, lift a gloved hand and fix the draping of the fake pearls just so, before returning to socialize with the group of people around her, but not before expertly noting without directly looking where she and Bruce stand off to the side against a wall.

Tonight, Kate and Bruce converse quietly while Sir opens the evening, recounting to the impeccable attendees the history of the name _Folie à Deux_ and their childhood play. She's opted to wear a tailored tuxedo designed to complement her feminine curves, something she hopes Catherine will see as a compromise. Her hair has been cut in an asymmetrical style that exposes the row of black studs in her right ear, accompanied by the sleek dangling pearls she chose from Martha's collection earlier. Side by side, she and Bruce cut a sharp image together. 

“Surprised she's not here yet,” Bruce says. “Sure you haven't been stood up?”

His eyes scan the room expertly casual, but Kate knows he does the same thing she did just moments before. Check the exits, scrutinize the crowd, locate every member of his team, and have it analyzed and remembered by the time his eyes fall back to his glass for a sip. Kate glances at the watch on her left wrist, almost frowning at the thin platinum mesh band so distractingly different from the silver guard she used to wear.

“She's on her way if she hasn't already arrived. Said she got caught on a call from Tights,” she says, drops her naked hand until the watch falls against the curve of her palm, and sips her drink as well. She sees him smirk at this. “Been a while since 'Tights' amused you.” 

“It's been a while since Tights has made her late to meet a Cowl,” he says. 

“I don't want to hear another story about your dick measuring days with Clark,” Kate says with a groan. “Especially if it happened over my girlfriend.” 

For the first time, Kate almost winces at the word “girlfriend” and the new juvenile feel of the word surprises her. She doesn't understand why. That's what Diana is though. Her girlfriend. She frowns again and then catches the way Bruce looks at her over the rim of the champagne glass as he takes a sip, like he knows, like he understands something she doesn't yet. Bruce taps her shoulder to get her attention and then leads her toward the door to slip away from the crowd.

The enter the hallway where artifacts of his parents lie in glass display cases line the walls. They pause next to Martha's writing desk roped off in a corner, still covered with rough drafts of her last translation project, _The Book of the City of Ladies_ by Christine de Pizan. Kate remembers her working on this even though there were already perfectly good translations out there, remembers her doing and saying a lot of things the rest of her society women didn't quite see the need to. Kate touches the paper and the fading ink of her aunt's handwriting. 

“You got that from her, you know,” she says, quietly. “Your resolve. Your willpower. We Kane women are known for being stubborn like that.” 

“I heard it described as 'unrelenting' recently,” he says nonchalantly and sips again and it makes her smile softly. There's little that happens in Gotham, especially amongst his family and friends, the Batman doesn't know. 

She quotes Althea, “'An eloquent way to say stubborn.'” 

Bruce puts on his fake dazzling Wayne smile for someone across the room and Kate, every bit as good at this game as he is, finds the guest, a retired surgeon Thomas did his residency beneath, and smiles herself. When the old man looks away, both their smiles fade. 

“Kane women also share a tendency to gravitate toward compassionate caretakers,” Bruce tells her. “Like my father. Like Diana.” 

“And Wayne men like stubborn, forward thinking women they're barely equipped to handle. Like aunt Martha. Like Selena.” 

He clinks his glass with hers. “ _Touché._ ” 

“How did you know it was time, Bruce?” she asks him, still gazing at her aunt's neat cursive French and the English scribblings on the paper. “To ask Selena?” 

Bruce is quiet a moment before he says, “The moment I made the same face you just did at the thought of the word 'girlfriend' and nothing else felt accurate.” 

She doesn't respond and he gives a pat and small rub of her shoulder and says he has to get back to socializing. Kate just nods and watches him join Selena and some old friends of his parents. She finds herself a place away from the crowds. She sips on a glass of champagne with a casual hand resting in her pocket where her fingers can map over and over again the dimensions of the box. Girlfriend, huh?

Kate catches the pop of white of Diana's collar in the crowd and pushes herself up from the decorative column she leans against. Diana is sleek in the black suit with gold jewelry and heels so red they shine with gloss. The last time Kate's breathe caught in her throat at the mere sight of her was a year ago almost to the day, one warm evening when Diana took the stage in the light cast from large oil lamps and knelt. The box nearly burns inside Kate's pocket and the heat almost makes her heart shrivel and hide.

The smile on Diana's face immediately fades into mild concern and Kate watches her cross the room. She has to deftly untangling herself from a few obstacles who attempt to engage her in conversation. It lets Kate wrangle in the pressure in her chest, resume her languid position against the column and slip her hand back in her pocket, to quell the threatening flames of the box.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Kate says, when she finally makes it through the crowd. “I swear Bruce was about to turn this shindig into a pity party to express his condolences for my newly acquired bachelorhood.”

“Are you all right?” Diana asks her and the concern makes Kate smile. She reaches up to thumb her chin before kissing her cheek softly. 

“I'm fabulous,” she says. “You look amazing.” 

“Thank you, lovely. I wish I felt half as amazing.” 

“Rough day?” 

Kate offers her a sip of her champagne and Diana accepts the glass graciously and takes a sip before handing it back. 

“Long.” 

She glances across the room to the raised podium where Jacob is finishing his speech and Kate notices the bluish-black coloring on her right chest below her collarbone just peeking out from beneath the open collar of her shirt. She reaches over and lightly draws back the end of the white button-down, revealing the nice golf ball sized bruise forming there. Diana glances down, unembarrassed, but also unsurprised. 

“Just a small incident at the shelter,” she says. “Nothing to worry about.” 

Kate only nods. She doesn't know why, but she lightly touches the bruise with her fingertips, like the very sight of it is almost transfixing, demanding her attention. She isn't prepared when Diana's breath catches instead of winces and the reaction makes her eyes flick up at her. She can see the surprise in Diana's face as well and they both look down at the bruise at the same time. Kate dares to touch it again and Diana, expecting it this time, closes her eyes and makes a small sound Kate has never heard her make before, something soft but primal, that makes her want to hear it over and over again. 

She isn't thinking when she does it. No, if she had been, she would have seen how improper and out of character it is to lean over and tongue a bruise on Diana's chest and kiss it tenderly in a ballroom full of five-hundred people and their five-hundred pairs of eyes just to hear her gasp and then whimper. 

Kate pulls away and replaces the white collar over the bruise as if it had just been a strong impulse and vivid five-second fantasy she hadn't acted on. The only thing that confirms Kate actually did it is the adorable flush of red to Diana's face and the look Bruce gives her from across the room, half disapproving, half impressed. Kate ignores him and finishes off her champagne grateful he seemed to be the only one who noticed.

“I'm sorry. That was inappropriate,” she starts, speaking low so only Diana can hear her. “My head has been stuck in that gutter for a bit now. I don't know what's wrong with me.” 

A waiter with a silver tray of drinks passes by and Kate deposits her glass while Diana plucks a fresh one. She takes her time smoldering behind the glass, taking quiet sips, while the two of them stand oddly side by side.

“If something is wrong with you, then the same something must be wrong with me as well,” Diana tells her and takes hold of her hand. “Let me say hello to Bruce and your parents and by the time I finish this glass, please take me home, Kate.” 

Kate pauses and looks at her, but Diana has already squeezed her hand and stepped toward the crowd, leaving Kate to watch her approach Bruce and Selena with smiles and warm hugs. It's not long before Catherine Hamilton spots her and drags Sir to say hello. Kate frowns. Why can't she seem to get the cogs in her head working right since they've returned? 

She watches Catherine hug Diana, dote on the waves in her hair, and then look somewhat alarmed as she studies Diana's now bare left hand. She sees Diana's slight embarrassment as she explains, sees Sir step forward and clap a warm hand on the soft flesh of her shoulder and give her an affectionate rub before they return to whatever discussion they were having with Bruce and Selena. Kate watches this curiously. Diana fits in seamlessly, involved, interested, integrated. The five of them chat with a surprising calm. 

When had her parents stopped being starstruck by Diana? When had they become so familiar with her? When had Kate stopped feeling competitively triumphant when she saw Bruce and Diana standing next to each other and instead started appreciating their ease in each other's company? Like family, Kate thinks. Her family.

The thought strikes her so dumb it keeps her feet planted and all she can do is continue watching them from afar. Family, huh? Diana catches her eye over her shoulder and holds her glass where Kate can plainly see that barely a mouthful of amber liquid is left. She dares to hold Kate's gaze, eyes simmering above the rim of the crystal flute when she lifts it to her lips and empties it. She doesn't look away when the glass lowers and her lips part just slightly.

It only takes a quick flick of Diana's eyes toward the door before Kate's across the room, scooping her up with a sweep of her arm and announcing their apologies. Early day tomorrow, important meetings, doctor's appointments, you know how it is. No, nothing's wrong. Neither of us are dying. We're the picture of health. Swear to Yahweh. Sorry, sir. Won't say it again, sir. Excuse us, sir. Shut up, Bruce. Love you all. Good night. 

It's not Kate's best work, but it gets her and Diana out of there within five minutes. Diana titters softly to herself in amusement when Kate sweeps her along, noticing the faint flush of arousal beginning to creep along her chest just beneath the collar of her shirt. 

-

They barely make it through the front door, barely slip from shoes and jackets before Kate notices Diana cast her a look while she undoes the latch of her watch. Diana's gaze falls to Kate's lips for just a moment too long before she pulls them back up to her eyes. Kate dumps her watch in the bowl and steps toward her and Diana intercepts her with a hand slipping into her hair at the back of her head and the fingers of the other sliding across her cheek when she claims Kate's lips. 

She starts to pull them toward the bedroom, but Kate shakes her head and yanks her toward the couch instead. She kisses her again, and says, “No, right now. I want to hear that sound again right now. The one you made in the ballroom.” 

Kate is nipping at her neck, breathing her in as her fingers unbutton the crisp white shirt. She pushes it from her right shoulder, revealing the darkening bruise, and places her mouth over it. The angry flesh is tender and it makes Diana draw in a sharp breath, hands coming up to cradle Kate's head, before Kate hears it again. The soft whimper, a little cry. Diana's eyebrow furrows just so when Kate licks the bruise again. Kate tests out a tiny nibble and Diana's head bows, her expression deepening. Her lips part and she lets out a small, delicious, “oh...” 

“Does it hurt?” Kate asks her, lifting her face to look at her. Diana nods. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Diana breathes, stiff hands around Kate's neck slowly relaxing. 

“...no. Don't stop.” 

“What do you want, Diana?” Kate drops her voice and she lays soft kisses around the bruise on the soft undamaged skin and then draws away to look at her a little uncertainly. “You have to tell me what you want. I won't know what to do unless you tell me.”

She can see a conflict in Diana's eyes, but she doesn't know about what, and the not knowing worries her. Her hands frame Diana's face. Suddenly, as if giving up on withholding some absurdity, Diana gives a hollow laugh.

“I don't know what to tell you, Kate. I want everything, all of it, all at once, but also none of it,” she says and she looks at Kate at a complete loss, slowly removing her hands from her face. “I want that pain, but not it. Something like it, but somehow more. I can't stand the heat of your mouth. It almost burns too much, but I also can't stand it when you take it away.” 

She places a palm to her forehead and shuts her eyes, trying to make sense of the words she just said, but comes up with nothing. 

“I want you sweet and loving and I want you brutal and cruel. I want so much to love you and also to split you open, to have you halve me as well.” Diana is shaking her head. “I want it-” 

“Raw,” Kate finishes for her and pulls her into a gentle embrace. “Savage. Primal.”

“Yes.” 

“And also beautiful and intimate and breathtaking.”

“All of that and so much more.” Diana sighs like she's giving up. “But I am not enough as I am now to articulate this and I feel less than for it.” 

Kate would laugh if Diana weren't grasping so hard at straws and so bothered that she is. She pulls her close and kisses her forehead. She cradles her head tenderly against her, but she can still feel how tense Diana's frustration keeps her rigid in her arms. 

“You want to fuck, Diana,” Kate says and hopes the hushed tone of her voice is enough to temper the crude words. “That's what it's called. Savage, brutal love making. No thoughts, no worries, just passions and bodies and bare bones honesty. So disgusting, it's intimate. So ugly, it takes your breath away. So utterly raw and bleeding, there's no stopping it. It's love so sharp, you want to be impaled by it, pleasure so good it hurts everywhere, inside and out, and makes you cry, makes you shake, makes you lose yourself, but you don't want to stop until you're spent and empty. Because you need to feel empty. Because you've been shoved full of too much of everything and you can't hold it all in anymore.”

“Making war.” Diana sounds far away, somewhere else but here in this moment with Kate. It fills Kate with a kind of sorrow and she strokes her cheek lightly.

“Yeah, Diana. Like making war instead of love,” Kate says, quietly. “We call that fucking.” 

She thinks she feels Diana tremble and stills herself to try to offer her something solid at least to steady herself. Diana remains motionless in her arms though and Kate wonders if maybe she shouldn't have told her any of that. Well. She shrugs. It's not like Diana didn't already know the word anyway. It's an active word in Kate's daily lexicon and she can name three movies they've recently watched together that have used the word in this exact context. 

She frowns. What is Diana thinking? Is she processing? Is she appalled? Offended? Intrigued?

Kate draws back just enough to look at her and Diana's eyes flash open and focus on her with deliberate intensity. Her lips part like she's about to say something, but instead, she lifts an unsteady hand and lets her fingertips touch along Kate's bottom lip. Her eyes drop to Kate's still half-buttoned shirt and her hands set to undoing the rest of the buttons, letting fingers graze each new small stretch of skin every undone button reveals. Kate obliges her, shifting to pull her arms from the sleeve when Diana's hands slide the shirt from her shoulders. 

“Talk to me,” Kate says, watching as Diana carefully removes her own shirt and sets it on the back of the couch. “Tell me what you're thinking. Please.” 

Finally, Diana eases herself closer, sliding an arm around Kate's neck to press against her. She kisses her, almost tentative at first, something terribly close to shy even, excruciatingly slow and methodical, before she rests her forehead to Kate's. It's almost like she's gathering courage. When has Diana ever had to gather courage? She steadies her breathing, measuring it out so evenly, it's almost unnatural. 

“I want you to fuck me, Kate,” she says. “Just like you described.” 

Kate's mouth goes dry. Her mind blanks completely. Diana shuts her eyes, troubled. It's such a crude foreign word on her tongue. Her voice is a mere whisper. 

“And then stay with me until I'm full again,” she says.

Kate knows she's thinking of the last time anything raw between them happened. She knows she's thinking of how aggressively physical and good it was and she knows she's thinking of how the emptiness inside her afterward remained unattended to so long it morphed her doubts into fears and those fears into monsters. She knows she's understanding. But not this time, Diana, not ever again. 

Something in Kate breaks open and comes loose, growls low and menacingly.

“Jesus, fuck, Diana.” 

She yanks her close and kisses her like she'd been starved, and her stomach coils painfully tight and oh so wonderfully when Diana meets her with a ferocity of her own. Diana pulls her down on the couch with her and Kate is gone, completely lost. She wants to own her, possess her, make Diana hers. She wants Diana to use her, demand pleasure from her, desire her more and more. She tells Diana all these things, obscene things, vulgar things, truthful things, beautiful things. She tells her all of it between bites and kisses and Diana takes it all, every little bit Kate has in her to say. She takes it all inside her, spins it into raw, unrefined love, and then kisses it right back into her. 

Kate doesn't know who cries out first. She doesn't know who curls forward first or shudders out release first, or who squirms or stiffens or spasms. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing but showing the ugliness inside until it's so beautiful it makes them both collapse together weeping, cooing, and cuddling as close as possible even though it never feels close enough. 

-

While Kate showers, Diana stands in front of the bathroom mirror pulling the loose collar of her shirt down to examine the bruise on her chest. The coloring is as angry as it was yesterday in the ballroom when Kate had been possessed to lick it and Diana blushes faintly at the memory. She presses light fingertips into the bruise and feels the dull flare of pain. Unsurprisingly dull. 

She doesn't know why she had reacted that way to Kate's mouth on it at all. It was like whatever possessed Kate had also possessed her and it led to their hasty retiring and their night of what she is beginning to think of as war-making. Some of her muscles are a little sore this morning but at least her legs are steady beneath her once again, which is more than she could say for them last night.

The shower turns off and behind her mirror self, she can see the door open. With just a glance through the mirror, Kate notices her fingertips on the bruise. 

“Does it still hurt?” she asks, stepping out and yanking her towel off the hook to the right. 

“No, not terribly.” 

Kate nods a little quietly and begins to dry herself before she says, “And how are you feeling?” 

The question takes Diana off guard a little and she catches Kate's eyes in the mirror. She offers a smile. 

“Emptied, but also refreshed and renewed,” Diana says and bends to dry her hair one more time. She turns to hang her towel on the rack. She gives Kate a soft peck on the cheek. “Thank you for checking in.” 

“Always, D.” 

She notes the almost shy smile on Kate's lips and tells her to hurry and dress. Then she's out the door and down the hallway and pauses when she sees their clothing strewn about the living room reflecting on her answer. Yes, she does feel emptied, in the best way that could possibly mean, and like she is already filled once more. There is still a stinging empty inside her and she wonders how she can make that empty feel less hollow.

Diana picks up the shirts she'd carefully laid on the back of the couch and drapes them over her forearm before she starts for the rest, noting the wrinkled state of Kate's once crisp white pants. When she bends to pick them up, she feels something hard swing slightly in the right pocket. Diana sets everything aside and fishes the item out. 

It's a small wooden box beautifully stained and stamped with pearlescent lettering lightly carved on the top. _Folie à Deux._

“That's for you,” she hears and sees Kate leaning on the wall at the end of the hallway with her arms lightly crossed. 

“Did you bid on it?” Diana asks her and Kate chuckles. 

“No, it's a gift. From me. ...From Bruce?” She pauses for a moment while she thinks on that but then shakes her head. “A truce from Bruce to me and a gift from me to you, more like it.” 

“A truce? About what?” 

“You,” Kate says. “Or me with you. Us. Go ahead and open it.” 

Diana looks at the box in her hand and sets the pile of clothing she'd collected on the back of the couch. She flips it open. Inside, the box is lined with dark gray satin and resting on a pillow, wedged securely in a custom fit hole, is a single polished pearl. On the inside of the lid, the same pearlescent lettering is brilliant against the dark satin background. _The Martha Wayne Collection_. Diana picks up the pearl and holds it where she can see it.

“This is like the earrings you were wearing.” 

“It's one of Aunt Martha's pearls, yeah,” Kate says, finally stepping from the end of the hallway to stand beside her. “Bruce wanted everyone in the family to have a little piece of her. We didn't know what you'd like, so I thought it best to let you decide what you'd like made with it.” 

“That's very thoughtful of you both, Kate,” Diana says with a touched smile as she replaces the pearl in its satin bed. “But why give this to me? I'm not her family.” 

She closes the lid almost too carefully, as if afraid of breaking the precious treasure inside it, and is surprised when Kate's hands cover hers, folding her fingers around the box with even more care than Diana's had. The action makes her glance up and Kate steps closer, cradling her hands that still cradle the box. Her smile is genuine and her voice is soft. 

“Yes, you are, Diana,” she says. 

Diana pauses and her heart forgets how to beat when Kate sinks to a knee still holding on. The apartment in suddenly cold and the skin on her arms pucker in tiny goosebumps. When Kate speaks again, the cold and the apartment fade from her peripheral vision and all that is left is Kate.

“It's not a quartz. It's not even a diamond,” Kate says. “But it'd make you a Kane and a Wayne. It'd make you our family if you'd like to be.” 

Diana feels herself fill just a little bit more with love. It's her turn to drop to her knees and gather Kate in her arms. It's her turn to say, “Of course, I do, Kate. Of course, I do.”

-

Kate is rinsing off the dishes from breakfast at the sink and loading the dishwasher while Diana is tending to Oscar behind her. She is transferring him to a small galvanized steel pail while they look for a proper pot more befitting his size. They've since replaced his sombrero with a small cattleman hat they found in an antique store that held a small collection of doll clothing and Kate has taken to calling him Indiana Oscar the Grouch. 

Behind her, she can hear Diana's soft voice humming, lightly breaking into song every now and again, and Kate feels herself smile at the familiarity of this mundane-ness. The place breathes with life again, the hallway echoes slightly with the sounds of their bare feet once more, and sometimes, Kate will catch a glimpse of Oscar from the corner of her eye and think, _Look, we got her back, buddy. I told you I would._

Suddenly, the small breeze that wafts through the curtains is scented with olives and unearthly perfume and the scents trigger every alert inside Kate. She shuts the faucet off and slings the water from her fingers before she turns around. 

Athena and Aphrodite stand in front of their kitchen window that faces the fire escape. Their faces give no indication of their moods and their attention is on Diana as if they await for her to speak or move first. Diana's expression is just as grave and unreadable as Athena's and just like the first time Kate witnessed them interact, she sees a silent conversation pass between them in just the gazes they exchange. 

She remembers wondering about their relationship, remembers that a small part of her she hadn't acknowledged before had thought it potentially romantic and she scolds herself now for not seeing it then. There is a great deal of love that passes between them, but also admiration and respect, one she now can see is mutual. It is romantic in the same sense a brave knight fighting for his king is, in the same manner a good master treasures and takes care of his apprentice. Now, however, Kate sees a small rigid apprehension between them and wonders how the past year has strained their relationship. Part of her mourns. 

Then Diana drops her gaze, places her hands on the table, and pushes her chair back as she slowly stands. She steps beside the table where there is more space and nothing obstructing their view of her. She bows her head and takes a knee, folding her arms in a formal X across her chest. 

“My Ladies Wisdom and Love,” she says with all the reverence inside her. “How may I be of service to you today?”

It's almost like the air around breathes once again and Kate swears Athena's face softens and her ice eyes melt with warm affection. She watches amazed when she lowers herself to a knee and lifts Diana's face with two fingers beneath her chin. 

“It is we who can be of service to you,” Athena says and her voice is the softest Kate has ever heard it. “You have persevered and pulled through, Diana. You have suffered and been shamed, but have succeeded. You have shown me and all those who may have doubted the worth you have to stand at the side of your Kate of the Dawn without fear.”

Diana's eyes flare open with surprise and then joy so profound she lets her heart rule her head for once and throws her arms around Athena. The Lady Wisdom is taken by surprise, but after a moment, relaxes into the touch. 

“Daughter, favored above all your sisters,” she says, “you carry our pride with you for all your days to come.” 

There is too much emotion in this embrace for Kate to categorize all of it at once, but she knows, had Diana still held their gifts inside her, this moment would be more subdued, full to the brim with propriety and respect and the joy expressed in less obvious ways. She's still struck by the new tenderness she can see in Athena, wondering what the hell happened that's changed her too. She tries to pinpoint the change in Athena as she watches her peel herself from Diana and let Aphrodite embrace her as well. Then a thought strikes Kate and she pauses. 

“Wait,” she says. “My side?” 

Aphrodite looks up at her over Diana's shoulder and then steps out of the hug, lovingly patting Diana's cheek before she turns to Kate. 

“Yes, Kate. Your side,” she tells her with a smile. “Is that not what she said twelve months ago? That she be deemed worthy of you?” 

Kate falters and glances at Diana who watches her quietly, the tiniest half smile lifting shyly at the corner of her lips. It's like a stab to her heart when she sees her look away almost bashful. Bashful? When has Diana ever been bashful? Wait. Kate is suddenly so confused, her mind empties of thoughts.

“No, I didn't-” Kate says, trying to find her words. “She doesn't have to prove her worth of anyone. She's Diana. She's Wonder Woman. She's-” 

“She is a woman, Kate of the Dawn, not unlike you.” 

It's Athena who approaches her and the lack of sound her footsteps make in the kitchen is almost eerie. Kate averts her eye, not wanting to see their usual cold judging manner right now in a moment she's grasping for solidity of self. 

“And she has chosen you to love,” Athena says. “All I did was make sure she did so in a way that mirrors the way you have chosen her, in a way that makes her grow and learn. All I did, Kate Kane loved by Diana, is make you her standard. You are the measure by which I judged her.” 

Kate has no words. Athena has taken them all. She'd thought Athena hated her, disapproved of her, that she'd assigned them these trials to make sure they'd fail them, to chase her out of Diana's life. She'd thought she'd bested Athena when she refused to run away, that she could gloat before her if she ever faced the god again, but Athena's words have frozen her. She looks at Diana, a little too desperately for confirmation of this and Diana gazes back at her with so much love it makes Kate's heart hurt.

“Diana, I-” Her voice catches painfully in her throat. How embarrassing, she thinks, to shake like this fighting back tears in front of company. 

She feels Diana near, feels her hands warm on her cheeks, framing her face. Kate lifts her eyes and blinks through humbled tears, so grateful, so touched. This precious woman had wanted to be worthy of her. Diana. Wonder Woman. She'd wanted to deserve her. Kate can't believe she's ugly crying in front of greek gods in her own damned kitchen. She pulls Diana close. 

“Well, shit, Diana,” she says, trying to cover up the waves of cringeworthy feeling inside her. “I could have told you that.” 

Diana laughs. Kate sobs which only makes Diana laugh more. 

“I will be sure to ask you first next time and skip a year of difficulty.” 

“Good. You'd better.” Kate pulls her closer and her words are muffled with warmth in the space between them. “You deserve me, Diana. You've always deserved me.”

“Bond with me, Kate,” Diana whispers. 

Kate chuckles and wipes her cheeks. 

“Silly bat charmer. Of course.” 

They don't notice it at first. It's faint and soft but strengthens with each second that passes. Kate mistakes it for the warmth of love boiling over inside her until she feels the warmth pulse out of sync with her heart. Her eye cracks open and the golden glow beneath them grabs her attention. It fizzles out only once as if it were rusty and out of practice and then glows brighter than their eyes can handle. Both she and Diana shield their eyes as the light encompasses them both for a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal and then it is gone. 

Kate hears Diana's breath catch before her eyes adjust and she's able to focus them once again. When she does, her words cling painfully to her chest, and her throat swells. Diana stands before her and in her hands the Golden Perfect has coiled itself loosely, languid and content, as if it had never left her side for a minute. 

“Diana-” Kate starts and then stops, eyes darting up to meet Diana's and can't help but be amused at the surprise so sharp in her eyes it nearly mimics terror. 

Before another word can be spoken, Diana's attention has turned back to her patrons, who have stepped away and whose auras begin to shine so bright it blurs their silhouettes at the edges. Aphrodite's smiles is bright and charming, but a smile has never been as disarming as the one that comes lightly to the curve of Athena's lips. 

“It is not the only thing that has returned, Diana,” Athena tells her as she and Aphrodite step backward into their light. 

Her last words fill the stillness of the kitchen and echo in chambers of Diana's heart long after the two of them fade away. At first, Kate isn't sure what she means, but then the realization dawns on her and her attention snaps back to Diana. There is something different about her. It's not so much obvious to her eyes, but it's like her heart knows it, can feel it. The way Diana's attention has shifted from the Perfect in her hands to her hands themselves, testing each digit as if feeling them for the first time, is all the confirmation she needs.

“Diana,” Kate says her name tentatively, but it tears Diana's focus from her hands, fingers curled stiff, now suddenly full with holding a heavy nothing that wasn't there before. 

“Kate-”

It's all Diana can utter and Kate knows. Every part of her knows. Diana's gifts have been restored. Kate wipes the evidence of her own ugly tears before the first of Diana's fall. Diana sobs. Kate laughs. Then she repeats Athena's sentiments, because Diana has earned them. They both have earned them. 

“Congratulations, Diana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythos had requested way back when I was writing chapter 2 to try to figure out a way to get Diana to say "fuck" believably. I suppose this is my attempt at that. Apologies if it offended anyone.


	20. The Hunter

Fifty stories above the streets of Metropolis with only the tops of sky scrapers tall enough to look them level in the eye, Diana flies side by side with Superman without a real destination in mind. They'd started the night with a friendly race, wagered with cups of coffee or tea, but then somewhere along the lines, settled into a leisure night flight. She had missed these flights with him. She'd missed her friend. Life as a Leaguer was complicated enough. There were never enough hours in a day and free time was invaluable. He already had a wife he didn't see nearly enough of. She didn't want to stretch his time even thinner.

Diana had hesitated to join that first League mission, but Kate had encouraged her, told her it'd be 'fun', as if Diana had been deliberating going away to summer camp instead. Of course, Kate had been right. It had been fun, as much fun as locating a rogue satellite in space corrupted with what could only be described as semi-sentient malware could be, that is. 

It had been like stretching out stiff limbs and slowly awaking muscle memory. Then it was exhilarating, remembering all that she could do, feats she'd once accomplished without a second thought. She could touch space infinite and hold stardust in her hands. During it all, she still felt the insatiable longing for home, for its familiar sounds and smells and its familiar faces. Kate welcomed her back with a smile and Diana took her to bed to tell her all the things she'd missed about her.

The next mission was easier to say yes to and so were the next few. The longing for home began to give way and she was filling up with a sense of duty instead, a sense of purpose restored just as grand as it had been before. It was easier to forget home for longer periods of time. By the seventh mission, once she'd left it, Diana hadn't thought of home and of what or who it offered until the mission was over and she was on her way back.

She remembered how much she'd missed Kate the moment she saw her again at home. Her home and her Kate. Hers. When Kate greeted her this time, Diana took her to bed to make amends. Yes, of course. Her Kate. This feeling of home. How can a simple sense of duty so easily suppress the ache of her heart for home? 

“So it's settled then?” Superman asks her and brings her back to the present. “You're back on the League, right?” 

In the cool Metropolis air, Diana considers his question. Back on the League. Back to who she was. But not without Kate, not unless she agrees.

“Yes,” Diana tells him. “After we return from Themyscira, I'll speak with Kate.” 

Superman's laugh is carried away by the night air that whizzes by. Beneath them, street lights blur together in the dark night. She can feel his warm hand strong and heavy on her shoulder as he gives it a soft, sympathetic pat. 

“As Lois always tells me,” he quips. “Happy wife, happy life.” 

“Tell her I will take her words to heart and learn from them.” 

“They haven't failed me yet.” He chuckles. “So, you two are –?”

She shakes her head and says, “No, we aren't.” 

“But the pearl? Bruce said she–.” 

“Yes, she did.” 

“And you –?”

“Accepted it, yes.” 

“You leave for Themyscira tonight for a 'bonding' ceremony and you don't think you're engaged?” 

She chuckles softly. She doesn't want to tell him its because she's afraid to assume now, afraid it may have been retracted with recent developments. 

“We haven't spoken about it yet.”

“You know it's the same thing right, Diana?” he asks her and his words are nearly lost on the wind. “Whatever you call it, whatever was given, whatever ceremony you have and whether it's here or on Themyscira. It all means the same thing. When you get back, you're as good as married.” 

She nods, silently. For a second, Diana wonders how warm it is tonight. The night is humid and her skin feels a little clammy, but she isn't as susceptible to temperature anymore. She wonders what the wind chill factor is, if it would have made her shiver, how deep the humidity would have made that chill cut before. Then she remembers the cold Gotham winter wind and she remembers the warmth of their two bodies nestled close. 

“That time you overexerted yourself and were momentarily without your powers,” she starts. “Did it change your relationship with Lois at all?” 

“Not that I know of.” He thinks for a minute and then chuckles. “She had to keep me from accidentally killing myself with our appliances, but nothing was really different. Why? Was it different with you?” 

“Yes, it was,” she says and slows to a hover in thought. 

He stops to hover beside her when she does and then follows her lead to land on an extended gargoyle with a flattened top where they perch comfortably. Superman gathers up his cape in a fist to keep it from billowing and then gestures for her to take a seat and then takes his place beside her, waiting for her to continue. 

“It was terribly, wonderfully different, Clark, and it changed us,” she says, resting her palms on the cement on either side of her. “I feel like we've lost a little bit of what we became.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like I've sacrificed her to be whole again and I still don't feel whole. I'm still not the same and now she and I are not the same.” She thinks through her words carefully. “I know Kate feels it too, but neither of us wish to define it, so it hangs in the air between us and suffocates our words.”

Superman peers at her over his shoulder and his face is only barely touched by the glow of the street lights below. She can see the concern on her friend's face as he reaches over and places his hand on her forearm. 

“You're overthinking things, Diana,” he says. “Sometimes, it's better to just feel.” 

She nods her head, but doesn't say anything. She has been feeling. It's the feeling that has started the thinking. What is there to say, really, that he would be able to understand? Could he understand? This past year, Diana had felt like Kate could reach inside and touch the very bruises of her soul, but now she can't quite shake the feeling that her soul is once again untouchable. She is untouchable. Even in the moments she doesn't want to be.

-

When the Golden Perfect abandoned her, Diana's world became the most narrow it had ever been, limited to the edges of the empty hurt inside her and stretched only to the confines of her body. If the League still reached out to her, she didn't know. It had been a prick from one of Oscar's needles that first reminded her there was a world outside herself. A silly little cactus that, at first, had only been a tool onto which they could extend the excess care that was rapidly developing between her and Kate. Perhaps Oscar was really a vessel, swallowing all their extra love for safekeeping, and readying to give it back when she'd needed it most.

Oscar pricked her awake. She heard Kate's voice again. Then Kate led her back to the world. 

Kate had made the world safe again. Then she'd ripped away that safety and their struggle to overcome the aftermath only solidified the bond of care between them. It had been taxing and tedious, all that patient communication, but it had given them an intimacy as unshakable as it was quiet, predicated on the kind of trust that comes from the shadows of a hurt born from mutual vulnerabilities. She had never felt so inexplicably tied to another as she felt tied to Kate in these last weeks giftless.

In the rush of activity that followed her reinstatement, Diana hadn't noticed the absence of this quiet intimacy between them. It had been brilliant at first, feeling whole again, like the pock marks of her soul were once again filled. The warmth of her love, it's encompassing power, she'd forgotten how much she'd missed it. 

But, oh, how feeling the cold had made her seek out Kate's warmth whenever she could. In the drafty kitchen with her bare feet against the cold tile, she used to stand so close while coffee brewed and tea steeped she could feel the fine hairs of her forearm almost stand on end, as if reaching out across the space between their bodies searching for the heat of the sun. In the middle of a chill night, she used to press against Kate's back and her warmth would lull her back to sleep. 

Diana no longer feels the need to do these things. They are not automatic anymore. She doesn't seek those small comforts as frequently and, sensing the change, Kate doesn't ask for them as frequently either. Diana doesn't understand why until she recognizes the distinct lack of the once ever present irrational fear of potential hurt for either Kate or herself. 

She hadn't known of the connection between irrational fear, however faint, to mortal intimacy. Fear is inbuilt to love, makes it possible to value and cherish things and people so easily taken away or who can so easily harm us. Fear is vital to bravery which is necessary for trust. 

But fear is always of an unknown and reason and rational are too well equipped to counteract it. Too much logic can kill harmless fear and Diana has Athena's wisdom again.

She finally understands what Athena had set her up to accomplish with her trial. To choose to love Kate, Athena had said, as Kate has chosen to love her. 

To love bravely and with trust, not despite fear, but because of it, because the amount we can hurt is a direct reflection of the amount we can love, and because the threat of a hurt like that is what makes Kate know what and who is worth the fight to keep. 

-

When she returns home, she finds Kate in the kitchen, reading something on her phone as she stands in front of the refrigerator posed to open it. Her hair is still wet from a shower and she's draped a hand towel over her shoulders to catch the drip. The dark tank she wears displays her bare shoulders and arms, sporting fresh bruises beginning to darken to the color of ripe plums. 

Diana leans a shoulder against the doorway leading to the kitchen and watches as she pauses her reading and retrieves a sports drink. It must have been a strenuous night for Batwoman if she needs to replenish electrolytes. 

Kate notices her now and then grins, flexing her bicep to show the new trophies of combat. The purple almost shines in the dimmed kitchen light. 

“Beautiful, no?” she asks and then sets the phone down to twist the top open of the squeeze bottle in her hands. 

“Yes, very. It's quite a lovely view,” Diana says. She still carries Superman's words in her heart and in her ears and it makes her rest her head against the wood doorway she leans against. 

“It's not so bad from here either.” Kate's grin softens at the edges but doesn't lose its confidence. Her eyes falling just below the dip of Diana's collarbone. “It looks good on you.” 

There's a small gleam in Kate's eye that makes Diana's hand come up to touch the pearl she wears around her neck. 

She had settled on utilizing the hole already drilled and threaded a thin gold anchor pin through it. A gold chain is fastened to each end of the pin. The design is simple, but also sleek and modestly elegant. Diana wears it nearly every day. On days where it's impractical, she keeps it in a small velvet pouch on their bedroom vanity.

They haven't spoken further on what the pearl means and what the gifting of it implies, but the quiet discomforting distance that had crept between them must be addressed first. Neither of them had wanted to have that conversation yet. Tonight, with Kate acknowledging the pearl and with the ceremony coming the following day, they have to. 

“Thank you.” Diana fingers the pearl, clears her throat. “They'll be here soon.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Kate blows out the air in her lungs slowly and says, “I'm ready. I think I'm ready. Are you ready?” 

Diana thinks she can see a sliver of uncertainty in Kate's green eyes and there is an apprehensive tension in her strong shoulders. A question crosses her mind and she knows she has no choice but to ask it.

“Kate, do you still want to do this?” 

Kate pauses. “Do what?” 

“Bind your fate to mine.” 

Kate looks at her now, curiosity pushing back initial offense as if trying to gauge the purpose of the question first. Carefully, she says, “Do you?”

Diana's head lowers now and she straightens and shifts her weight to the other leg. She almost sighs, but doesn't. Her eyebrows furrow instead and she takes a few steps into the room thinking on how she wants to phrase this. 

“I do. As much as I have wanted anything. Since my gifts were returned, however, I can't help but feel how disconnected we are now,” Diana says, finally. “And our attempts to fix this have not been successful.” 

Kate's hands slowly lower until she rests her forearms on the top of the duffel. She clasps her fingers together and gives a slow nod, a painful affirmation of Diana's observation. 

“Yeah, I feel that distance too, but it's just in our heads, Diana. It's just another period of adjustment,” Kate tells her, but her eyes are focusing the curves of the bottle in her hands. “With everything we've overcome so far, there's no reason to think we won't overcome this too.”

Softly, Diana asks, “Then why can't you look at me when you say that?” 

The sigh that escapes Kate's lips verbalizes the frustration and Diana feels somewhat relieved that the negative emotion is no longer hidden away. She'd rather acknowledge it out in the open as she would choose to face any demon. She watches Kate lower her head a little too defeatedly. 

“Because even if I do believe that, it still hurts. Maybe it's selfish, but it does,” Kate tells her and then shrugs, trying to swallow the frustration once more. “It was such a huge sacrifice for you and no one struggled more than you did. I would never ask you to do it again. But I miss it, Diana. I miss how we were when you didn't have your gifts.”

Diana is across the room in her next breath. She takes the bottle from Kate's hands and sets it beside the phone on the table. She leans forward coaxing Kate's gaze up to look at her with gentle fingers. There is such love inside Diana, a little fuller and less pinpoint than when she was without Aphrodite's love, but far more resilient and unwavering now that she is with again. She doesn't know how to explain the difference to Kate, that it is different, yes, but never less, that she'll never love her any less.

“I don't know if we will ever be that way again. I'm not sure if that is something I would be able to give you again,” she says, rubbing her thumbs across the back of Kate's hands. “The bond will be yet another period of adjustment for another new way of being for us. You don't have to choose that.” 

It's almost humorous how exaggerated Kate's offense is at this. She nearly scowls and pulls a hand free so she can gesture with the next words that come from her mouth. 

“Why the hell wouldn't I?” she asks, almost indignantly. “Look, princess, just because I'm sad about a little kink loss, doesn't mean I've got cold feet. I still want this. I want the shit out of this. I want the shit out of you.” She lifts her gaze to Diana's and holds it fiercely. Kate scoffs with an embellished air. “Any version of you. Or have you already forgotten that?”

The short tirade makes Diana laugh softly. She considers the hand she holds almost tenderly and says, “No, I haven't forgotten.” 

“I told you at the start of all of this that we're going to be just fine,” Kate tells her, “and I haven't been wrong yet.”

“You haven't, have you?” Diana smiles. “Except, of course, before all of this, about how I feel about you.”

Kate shrugs. “Yeah, well, that I don't mind being wrong about.” 

Diana nestles a loose fist in Kate's warm palm and then lets her fingers blossom, slowly lacing their fingers together as hers open. Then as leisurely as she did that, she slips her fingers free and brushes their tips down the length of Kate's palm before closing them once more and starting the action all over again.

The last time Diana played with their hands like this was years ago, when before either of them could confidently say they had started. Kate closes her fingers around hers and Diana watches as she brings it to her lips and gives it a gentle kiss. The small gesture brings the honest sentiment still clinging to the inside of Diana's chest to her lips. 

“I love you, Kate,” she says, perhaps a little too carefully. “So much it stuns me.” 

Kate tries to maintain her stubborn indignity, but it's nothing short of adoration thinly veiled by false bravado. She huffs and clasps her hand over Diana's, stilling them. 

“Good, because you're welcome to stay stunned and love the shit out of me forever.” 

A small laugh bristles inside Diana's chest, but before it can escape with any words she might have said, an olive scented breeze swirls around them, mixed with the unearthly fragrance of Aphrodite's perfume. The breeze is strong enough to whip their hair and Diana clutches tighter to Kate when she's forced to shut her eyes. She can hear Kate shouting at her to hold on, to not let go, as if she thought it possible Diana would ever let her go.

It's the most violent way any of her gods had taken to transport her, but she doesn't have time to think about what it might mean before the breeze immediately dies down. She feels the warm night mist on her skin and then hears the night call of an owl before it flutters away in the night. They both open their eyes to find themselves on Themyscira, deep in the forest at the base of the mountain, and they are not alone. 

Beside them, straightening themselves from clutching together through their transport, is Anaea and Orithia. The four of them, unharmed, are a little dazed and then exchange glances. Orithia is the first to smile and greet them. She approaches to offer them soft embraces. 

“Diana,” she says, “Princess. So you and your Kate Kane as well?” 

“It would seem so, sister.” Diana receives her embrace with a smile and then steps aside to let her hug Kate. “I hadn't known you both had completed your trials as well, but I'm glad for it. Your company tonight is welcomed.”

The way Orithia looks at Anaea lets Diana know they feel it to. The night is alive all around them and the light of the moon that hangs in the night sky is filled with their memories. It falls on their skin like a physical caress from the past and threatens to set off goosebumps. Diana can feel Kate's awareness sharpen, the way it does when she's behind a cowl, prowling rooftops at midnight. 

“We're on Themyscira, aren't we?” she asks finally, looking around. 

Diana nods and Orithia points toward the doorway of the temple where they were assigned their trial. All four of them turn to look at the steep trail down the mountainside that disappears in the ink black night. Diana feels an unease in herself mirroring the unease she can feel in Kate. It looks like Themyscira, but it doesn't feel right. She knows the night air of her home. She knows it's sounds and the way the moonlight falls. Something is off, different, maybe, not maliciously, but different all the same. 

“It seems the gods have decided it's time.” Anaea's voice is as low and sturdy as her gaze. “We should go.” 

She wastes no time and starts for the doorway that awaits them with Orithia quickly following. Diana glances back at Kate who only stares back at her. Without a word, she extends her hand toward her. Kate steps forward to take it and then the two of them set to follow. 

-

They can feel the pulse of Themyscira all around, even in the cool empty hallways they walk now. There is no guide to show them through these passages that had been forbidden to them before, but somehow they know where it is they need to go. 

Diana and Anaea had let Orithia and Kate fill the silence with sparse chatter that was anxiously aware of the magic around them. For the three amazons, it's somewhat expected, though the degree of its intensity is surprising. For Kate, it's something completely new. Beside Diana, she is hyper aware, a mixture of good-natured anticipation with a healthy dose of fear. It only seems to excite her more when Diana takes her hand.

“Even in here, you can still feel the gaze of the moon, can you not?” Orithia asks Kate. “Would it settle you some to know it's not you the moon has eyes for this night?” 

Kate glances at her. “What do you mean?” 

“When the moon is full, she makes love to the ocean and births life anew. That's what you feel now, Kate of the Dawn. You feel the thrum of Themyscira's new heart beat.” Orithia smiles at her. “This is a night of magic.” 

Beside Orithia, Anaea's eyebrow furrows slightly and she offers the longest string of words Kate has ever heard her say. 

“And of power,” Anaea says. “It is to be venerated, Thia, and not spoken of lightly or consequences may find us.”

“Consequences?” Kate frowns and looks to Diana. 

Diana's head turns just a quarter inch and she can see how the green of her eyes have darkened from spring leaves to rich emerald. Whether it's from the torchlight of the hallway or of something else, she cannot say, but Diana is sure, by the look on Kate's face, that she has caught a similar change in her own eyes. Diana squeezes her hand and hopes it gives her comfort.

“There are ghosts about tonight, Kate,” Diana says, gently. “Hurt always comes on the heels of ghosts. We must be wary.” 

“And bonding sounded so romantic,” Kate jokes softly. “This feels more like walking into our own slaughter.” 

“I share your sentiment,” Anaea says as they come to a fork in the hallway. “This is where we part.” 

They all know it before she said it, but it's not until the words are heard that Diana knows for certain. This is the last time she will see Kate like this, separate and whole, unbound to her in any way. While Orithia and Anaea don't seem to voice the conversation that passes between them, Diana feels compelled for one last assurance. She uses Kate's hand to draw her closer. 

“So, this is it, then,” Kate says and Diana can hear the bravado in her words. “Point of no return, princess. Stuck with me for all your lives if you keep walking.” 

“My brave heart, I would never want to return to a time you were not in my life,” Diana says and then kisses the back of her hand.

Kate chuckles. “Charmer.” 

She steadies her breath and then takes a step back, toward the hallway Diana can feel is forbidden to her. Something inside her makes her hold tighter to the hand that had begun to pull from her fingers. Kate smiles at her. 

“It's the last time we let go, Diana,” she says. “Promise.” 

Diana lets out a small breathy laugh, dares to hold Kate's hand to her cheek for just a moment longer, and then squeezes it once more. She loosens her grip and watches Kate step away until her fingers slip from hers. 

“It's a promise, Kate.” 

Diana is thankful for Anaea's unwavering presence and for her patience as she watches Kate join Orithia and start down their hallway. The last time, she thinks. This will be the last time they will be separated like this. Diana finally recognizes the awful feeling inside her that made her grip Kate's hand tighter. It's loneliness. It's a loneliness so cold it almost burns as it slowly churns up from the dark trenches of her soul. 

Part of her is gripped in a fear so fierce it almost overwhelms her until she feels Anaea's steady hand on her shoulder. 

“We must go, princess,” Anaea says. “Lest we shame our hearts for not being their courageous equals.” 

Diana nods and thinks to herself at how much that would amuse Kate, and then follows Anaea down the hallway. 

-

They move in near silence. The hallways are all identical and Diana knows they have passed the same chipped stone corner at least six times, but they never need to discuss which turns to take when the hallway forks. Somehow, inside, they simply know. The hallways are being reused, but they are still moving forward. The night is full of magic after all and magic is not bound by the limitations of logic. Magic is felt and so Diana must feel.

“You look uneasy, princess,” Anaea say.

“I feel uneasy,” she answers and they turn a corner into another identical hallway. “You feel it too. There is enough detail to suggest we are still on Themyscira, but not enough to convince us it's true. That doesn't make you feel unease?” 

“We place our trust in the gods, Diana. It's what our people have always done,” Anaea says with a certainty that almost shames Diana's caution. 

“Yes, Anaea, but there is a mist of deception about us tonight,” Diana says. “This is not like our gods.” 

After a moment a quiet, Anaea says with a thoughtful voice, “Much has been changing lately. We amazons, Themycira, and our gods themselves, we all will change after tonight. It's been on the minds of us all since you and your Kate left.” 

Diana glances at her. “What do you mean?” 

“Succession, princess.” Anaea only leads them forward without looking her way and says, “After tonight, you will be bonded and your bonded one will be of the world outside. The future, our future, it lies with you and Kate.” 

Now, Diana stops and stands still as Anaea's words and their meaning echo inside her. Succession. It's a concept Diana has been running away from since she was young and seeking to know a world beyond these shores. Over the years, she'd nearly forgotten it, something allotted to a distant future she would never catch up to only to realize now that it had caught up to her. 

Suddenly, the certainty inside that tells her which hallways to follow and which pathways to discard wavers, almost flickering in and out of focus. She swallows her thoughts and her words and wills her feet to follow Anaea. It's all right, she tells herself. Anaea still knows the way. Follow Anaea.

-

At the end of the hallway, they stepped into a room rich with the smell of moss and earth, like the jungle after rainfall. The air is cool and humid and Diana thinks she can hear the faintest sounds of feathers fluttering in an invisible canopy above her head. The room is bare. Pristine stone walls barely scuffed or scratched enclose them and in the center is a narrow fountain that rises from the floor with etched grooves in the stone flooring that run the length of the room and disappear beneath the back wall. 

Anaea and Diana approach the fountain cautiously and Kate's words seem to hover between them, almost making the air around vibrate. Diana's senses are firing like they do when she's in a battle. Or walking into a trap. 

They don't see them until they are closer, but resting against the back of the fountain are two bows and two quivers of arrows. Anaea squats to inspect the weapons while Diana inspects the fountain. Standard stone fountain, hand carved, with a gentle spout that lets the water pour naturally, cascading down and filling the first layer before dropping into the deep fluted basin. 

“A hunt,” Anaea says, standing now with both bows in hand. “The Lady Huntress tests us beneath the full Buck Moon.”

Diana takes the bow Anaea offers her and inspects it, checking the taut string and the give of the bow's wooden arms. She slings it along her back and then lifts the quiver of arrows from the ground. 

“Then let us not disappoint her,” she says. 

Anaea nods her understanding and they both turn toward the gentle running water of the fountain. They dip their hands in the cool water to cleanse them of ill-intent for the hunt before them. They bend to splash water over their faces to bring new perspective to their eyes and new insight to their thoughts. With arms crossed across their chests, they both come to a knee and bow their heads. Anaea starts the prayer and Diana can feel her heart beat with every word. 

“Master Hunter, keeper of our sacred moon,” Anaea says and the phantom jungle sounds cease immediately. “We thank you for these gifts entrusted to our unworthy hands. These arrows sing your name in flight and these bows hold their breath beneath your sight, for this noble hunt bestowed to us this night.” 

A soft breeze blows from behind and she Anaea are on their feet, glancing over their shoulders to see that the back wall where the grooves of water had disappeared beneath has disappeared and beyond it, spreading out impossibly beyond the unnatural rectangular shape of the wall, is a lush jungle where the trickles of water from the fountain feed into a stream. 

Diana takes a few steps toward the opening, but stops when she hears Anaea's voice. 

“And this is where we part, princess,” Anaea says when she looks at her. 

The way Anaea looks at her makes Diana understand the feeling inside her that compels her forward also compels Anaea to stay. She turns to take a few steps back toward her sister and places a hand on her shoulder and offers a smile, trying to shake the feeling that this is too similar to a goodbye, even though she knows it's not. 

“Anaea, I have known you since I was very small,” Diana tells her and squeezes her shoulder and notices how Anaea stiffens as if preparing for the worst, “and I believe this is the most I have heard you speak in one night without drink.” 

The line of Aneaa's lips tremble just slightly before the corner of her mouth lifts. Anaea grins. It is small and does not draw attention to itself, but it is, nonetheless, a grin. Diana can't help but return it. Yes, this is not a goodbye, and yet, they both seem to know, the next time they see each other, they will not be the same people they are in this moment. 

Anaea covers her hand with her own and says, “Be well, princess. Good hunt to you.” 

“And to you, sister.” 

Then, Diana turns toward the jungle once more. She stops only for a moment at the edge of the stone, examining the terrain before her. Normally, she would be formulating a strategy to traverse the land efficiently, based on landmarks and streams and moving counter-clockwise, but the same feeling that compels her to move also compels her to follow blindly. She steps over the stone threshold and into the jungle and the room, Anaea, and the fountain behind her vanish. All that remains is jungle on all sides. 

“A curious ceremony you have entreated to us tonight, master hunter,” Diana says softly, mostly to herself, but she's sure Artemis hears them. “If this is a ceremony, that is, and not another trial. I cannot tell right now.” 

She wonders if Kate is somewhere in the wilderness spreading out before her. She wonders if Kate is being tasked with the same hunt. 

Diana glances up at the moon half hidden behind whispering night clouds and gauges the time by its position in the sky. Nearing midnight. A tightness in her chest tells her to move. She listens. She moves. 

-

Not far away, two pairs of gold eyes watch as Diana begins to make her way through the foliage. One belongs to a great gray owl whose feathers almost glow beneath the light of the moon. It perches on a branch that softly sways in the wind. A small stag with velvet covered antlers stands still beside the sapling where the owl perches. The owl's neck turns an uncanny degree as it follows Diana's movement and then it flutters its wings slightly and finds a more comfortable spot on the branch before settling down again. The owl hoots and then leans down to prune a few feathers near the crook of its wing. 

_“She is quite right. This is far from any ceremony before it.”_

The young stag shakes out its head and its nostrils flare slightly with a small snort. A hoof digs into the soft earth. 

_“She asked how I saw her and her Kate, if I saw them as hunter or prey.”_

The owl lifts its beak from its feathers and blinks in the dark night, settling back once again with its wings folded nicely.

_“And you intend to show her.”_

_“There is no bond more sacred than the one that binds a hunter and her prey. Everyone starts their journey as either a pursuer or a pursued.”_

A breeze ruffles the leaves like a breathy laugh and the young stag is unfazed by it, lowering its head and heads off into the dark. The owl watches its retreating form melt away into the shadows.

_“Wise words, indeed, little hunter.”_

Continued…


	21. The Hunted

Kate had picked her way through the thick jungle for half an hour with only the unusually bright light of the moon before she decided what was happening. She'd been in jungles before, especially sub-tropical ones like this one. There was never enough light like this at night to see enough to move. The only thing night offered in a jungle was pitch blackness and threatening sounds. The threat and the sounds are still true. Since the moment she stepped into this wild, she's felt eyes on her. Something dangerous lurks where she can't see, something with eyes on her. 

It's an illusion, she's decided. A delusion, maybe. Either the jungle or the moon. Maybe both. No matter. Something inside her tells her to move and she trusts her instincts enough to know she'd better listen. 

She sees the flickering of orange light before she recognizes it as a fire in a small clearing and she edges her way to where the foliage gives way, peeking out of the shadow. Kate pauses at the sight before her. Definitely an illusion. Hers?

Seated at a roaring fire watching a marshmallow speared on a stick turn brown and then flame is a man she recognizes as Steven Rockwell Trevor. She's met him before in passing, before she and Diana became involved. Nonchalantly, he withdraws the marshmallow and blows it out before reaching out a finger and tapping it. Blackened ash fall away from the confection.

“Ah, just in time for a marshmallow, cadet, ” He says, reaching into a bag to retrieve one for her. He is about to offer it when he pauses as if in thought and pays her no mind when she stands from the foliage and steps into the light. “Cadet? No, that doesn't sound right. Ensign? Yeah, let's go with that.” 

“I'm not navy.” Kate says as she steps forward into the light.

“No one's perfect.” He laughs and gestures toward the log stretched out beside his. “Have a seat.” 

She frowns, but takes a seat. This Steve-not-Steve looks real, sounds real, but she knows he can't be real, even though he's older than the image of him in her memory. Less charming too, she thinks. 

“What are you doing here, petty officer?” she asks.

“Waiting for you.” He takes the marshmallow in his mouth and hisses a few times to cool it before chewing, the chiseled muscles of his jaw flexing in the firelight. “And I'm a Lieutenant Commander now. How about a little respect for your CO?” 

She ignores the comment and clarifies her question. “No, why are _you_ here? You. In this hallucination.” 

Why not someone important to her? Someone like Sir or her mother, Safiyah maybe. Any of her fallen friends, her classmates. Or Basil or Knife. Bette, god, poor Bette. He catches her attention over the fire and the shadows in his blue eyes dance. Steve chews slowly, holding her gaze, and then swallows. 

“You remember what Diana said about ghosts?” he asks her and his words sound heavier and more solemn than she thinks they should. He tosses her the marshmallow in his hand and she scrambles to catch it. “She didn't say they'd be your ghosts, did she?” 

She stares at him, lightly rolling the marshmallow in her fingers. Even the light powdered sugar dust on the surface feels real to her fingertips. 

“Steve Trevor is alive and well,” she says, noticing a stick resting against the log she sits on. She spears the marshmallow. “You can't be a ghost.” 

His gaze lowers to the firelight and she thinks she sees something akin to sorrow glaze over them. He nods, fishes out another marshmallow for himself and spears it on the end of his stick. Simultaneously, they lift their sugar puffs to the flames. 

“Regrets aren't so different from ghosts sometimes, ensign.” 

She isn't sure which she dislikes more, the words he just said or the fact that he assigned her a navy rank and the lowest officer rank at that. Like she'd be inclined toward the Navy anyway. She wouldn't. Kate fights the urge to frown. Hm. Jealousy. Not something she's felt in a long time. Not one of her best traits when she does. Not that she's jealous of the LT. She's not. She has no reason to be. Diana's in her bed, not his. 

Kate scoffs to herself a little and loses the battle with the frown. Then why does she feel this need to close herself off to him? Whose regret is he? Diana's? What is it about Trevor Diana regrets?

“Chow down,” he says when their marshmallows flame. “There's nothing but rough terrain between us and the exfil site and we don't have a lot of time. The shadows have eyes here. You can feel her too, can't you?” 

The sense of danger she had when she first stepped into the jungle comes crawling back and she swears she hears a low growl, threateningly purr-like, from the tree line behind her. A branch sways slightly. Could be the wind. Could be an animal. The growl has changed positions. It's at her two o'clock now, just above Steve's head, somewhere in the branches. Another swish of leaves. Eight o'clock now, ground level, maybe ten feet from her hand. 

Something in Kate seems to automatically know and she plucks the blackened marshmallow from her stick and bites it in half, still tracking the movements. It's a strange feeling, being hunted like this. Caught, but not attacked. Not yet. Like she's waiting for something, waiting for Kate to do something,

“Yeah,” she says. “It's the Cheetah, isn't it?” 

She doesn't know how she knows. She's never met the Cheetah.

“Barbara,” he corrects. “I don't think Diana's forgiven herself for that yet. I don't know if she ever will.”

Kate chews and nods. She knows the story. Diana told her about it once, not too long after they started. She told Kate how she sometimes looks at a blood moon and thinks of Barbara, how she regrets so much of what happened with her. She can see the same regret in Steve now, can hear it in his voice. It's the kind of regret that holds a heart hostage and refuses to let it go, the kind that whispers falsities in a dark mysterious like tonight. _You should have been able to save her. You should have been there when she needed you…_ They're the kind of regrets night terrors are made of. 

Kate knows all about that.

“There's nothing to forgive herself for,” she says. “There was nothing Diana could have done differently, considering what she knew and what she didn't know at the time.”

He's shaking his head, hangs it heavy almost, not how she imagines either the real Steve or Diana to express regret.

“You don't get it. She was our friend. She was-” He pauses as if trying find the words to override whatever thoughts or feelings are caught in his chest, but he only manages to shakes his head. “It was just the four us then, in the beginning. Me, Diana, Etta, and her. She was a part of that. One of us, you know? We owed it to her to save her and we didn't. She was our friend, Kate, and we didn't save her.” 

The rhythm of his words, the way they're spoken, and the heavy sense of personal responsibility remind Kate too much of Diana. They aren't her words exactly. They're too casual, too clipped in some places, lingering too long in others, but they are the thoughts and feelings Diana once expressed to Kate. This is Diana's regret speaking with Steve's voice and wearing his face. Kate leans back and feels the cold humid air against her back, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her front from the heat of the fire. She says the same thing she'd told Diana that night.

“Don't confuse the two. Barbara was your friend, not Cheetah, and you did save her. You brought her back the first time, didn't you?” she asks and then catches his gaze and holds it. “She chose not to come back this time. That's not on Steve and that's not on you, Diana.”

Steve watches her with a knowing gleam reflecting in his eye and Kate offers no apology. Whether ghost or regret, this Steve-not-Steve gives a small chuckle and then tosses his roasting stick into the fire.

“Diana was right about you,” he says, but doesn't elaborate and she doesn't ask him to. She'd rather hear it on her voice instead of his.

Cheetah shifts positions in the dark and Steve reaches behind the log and pulls out two semi-automatic assault rifles, a CM901 and its civilian model the Colt LE 190-16S.

“All right, we better pop smoke,” he says and offers her the Colt, “before we wear out our welcome.”

“The hell is this bullshit, LT?” She shoots him a look of pure offense, pointing an accusing finger at the Colt. “The civ? Really?” 

Steve only eyes her and swaps the rifles before he says, less amused this time, “Yeah, she really was right about you.” 

It's a matter of principle. In this situation, the differences between the models are insignificant, but after giving her a less than flattering navy rank, Kate can't let this slide. She finds herself annoyed at the way he chuckles to himself while they shoulder the straps of their firearms and then turn toward the East. It's the same kind of annoyance she imagines she sparks in Bruce whenever she nudges an elbow in his ribs and cracks an inappropriate joke at the wrong time. 

“All right, ensign,” Steve says, gazing into the dark. “You're the compass here. You tell me where to go.” 

Something inside her responds, tells her its time to move. She doesn't know to where or why. She only knows when and what direction. Cheetah growls behind them, closer now than she'd dared before, so close Kate swears she can feel the heat of her breath on her neck and smell the stench of stale blood on her lips. 

“...pretty pretty princessssss...” Hateful words dripping with venom dangle by her ear. A soft bit of fleeting wind and the voice switches ears. “...sssendss ssoldiersss insstead of ssaviorsss…. You think you can sssaaaave her…? You think she wantsssss you to?”

Kate doesn't look at her. She wants to, wants to cast her a glance with confident airs and tell her yes, she will save Diana, but the ever present knowing inside her right now that tells her to move keeps her from doing it. It tells her not to look back, not this night, never this night. There's nothing in the shadows of Diana's past for Kate now. All she needs to worry about is what's ahead, where she needs to go, where she knows she needs to be but is not yet.

“Come on, LT. On me,” Kate says, shoulders her weapon and then steps toward the foliage. 

The savage growl Cheetah emits at being ignored behind her pierces the night mist, but Kate keeps walking. She's just a ghost, Kate knows. Not even the real thing. She notes Steve's face at the order she gave him, but still takes point.

“What?” she asks him. “Let's just be honest about it, Trevor. If I'd stayed in the service, I'd probably have made full bird colonel by now. I'd outrank you.” 

She can't tell if the noise he makes is a chuckle or a scoff and decides it's a little of both as she leads him into the darkness.

-

At the sound behind her, Diana nocks an arrow in her bow and spins around. Ten feet in front of her, a woman with dark hair and skin a smooth light brown smiles at her, but makes no attempt to avoid the tip of the arrow aimed at her throat. Strands of hair have pulled free from the loose ponytail and scrape against her cheek. She steps forward. 

She doesn't hide how she appraises Diana from head to toe and then back up again.

“It seems Kate's type hasn't changed much,” she says. 

In the silence that falls, the woman's smile almost darkens and it sparks a flame of distrust in Diana. She lowers her weapon but chooses not to respond, regarding her cautiously. She is all too wary of the supernatural mist that hangs in the humid air around them, all too knowledgable of how one can see things that aren't real when fog dampens one's view.

“We haven't met. My name is Safiyah,” The woman says but doesn't extend her hand.

“I know who you are,” Diana tells her, “and I know who you were to Kate.” 

“Were?” Safiyah asks her with her same mysterious smile Diana finds herself hardening to. “You sound sure of that.”

Diana only nods and then says, “I am sure, but even if I weren't, it would not matter.” 

She steps around her and readies her bow once more, raising her eyes to the dark canopy above, and then scans their surroundings. She still does not know what she hunts, only that she does. Behind her, she can hear the rustle of cloth and the cold metallic sound of a bullet being chambered in a hand held firearm. She doesn't have to look to know that Safiyah has pulled a pistol from a holster on her thigh or that she has fallen in step behind her. 

“I didn't think you would be so easily intimidated, but I had to try at least,” Safiyah says as they make their way forward over the damp jungle floor. “She was mine before she was yours, you know.” 

“She isn't either of ours.” 

“Now, maybe. Back then, she was most definitely mine.” Safiyah's voice is deceptively blameless now. 

“What is it you want, Safiyah?” Diana asks her. “Why have you come on this night of nights?” 

“Did you think only your ghosts could haunt you tonight?” The gleam in Safiyah's eye feels almost like a challenge and her smile is almost a threat. When Diana doesn't answer, she continues. “Tell me, princess, if you stake no claim on her, what makes you think she won't abandon you just as easily as she abandoned me?”

Diana doesn't look at her as she steps over a fallen long covered with moss. The thought of Safiyah has never been a threat to her and has only provoked a casual ire whenever Kate spoke of her time with her. Safiyah is a master manipulator with only her own interests at heart, a personality trait Diana has always had a hard time understanding.

“I see,” Safiyah says, cocking her head to the side, watching Diana. “She's already abandoned you once. After all, this is the woman who has made an art form of making women fall hard and fast and then leaving you behind when you're too far gone.” 

Safiyah's knowing tone hangs in the humid night air, almost floating on the dense jungle mist that surrounds them. Of all the ghosts of Kate's past, she wonders why it's this woman who has shown tonight. She doesn't voice her uncertainty, however, and acknowledges Safiyah's words with a simple nod of her head. 

“Let me guess.” Safiyah says, drawing out the words as she follows. “From the beginning, you knew she wanted you. She telegraphed her want in just the way she looked at you and it was flattering, wasn't it, princess? The depth of her desire, her shameless lust, the way she held her breath the first time you came near. And when she did nothing about all she felt, you had to instead. Is that how it happened? You can be truthful with me. How close am I?”

Diana knows she shouldn't acknowledge this, her, any of these words she says. She knows this image of Safiyah has been conjured up to distract her, drawing on nervous thoughts buried so deep, no one could possibly know they even existed, but whose fears are these? Is this how Kate sees herself and how they began? Does she think she caught her in the same way she thinks she caught Safiyah? 

Something about that thought settles uncomfortably inside her and Diana does what she shouldn't. She looks at Safiyah. Safiyah's full lips curve in a sly smile.

“That's a bullseye, I take it,” she says.

The smile Safiyah gives her is almost predatory in its feline nature, but she falls in line behind Diana as she begins to make her way through the lush vegetation once more. At first, the journey is quiet and Safiyah is respectfully silent whenever Diana stops and tunes her ears to a sound before continuing. Then the feeling inside her flickers off once more. It's like Safiyah knows. It's like she's been waiting for it. The minute Diana moves again, Safiyah stays put. 

“You sure you want to go that way, princess?” she asks and Diana glances over her shoulder at her. Safiyah nods forward, passed her. “Doesn't look familiar at all, does it?” 

Diana returns her attention to the path she'd chosen and studies the vegetation, the way the vines wrap and hang and the angle of the large fanned leaves. Safiyah is right. They've been by here before. 

“I'd say you need a guide, princess.” 

There is something almost menacing in the way she says this and Diana looks just in time to see the glint of Safiyah's revolver catch the impossible moonlight. She reacts with decades of Themysciran training honed in her muscle and with awareness only years of experience living off these shores can forge. Safiyah's weapon discharges with a flash and the shot echoes in the night like a crack of angry thunder, leaving behind the coarse smell of gun powder.

Diana turns to face her and she notices her hardened features, revolver still drawn, sill aimed, out into the shadows where Diana had been standing. Safiyah is not concerned with her. She only stares into the dark. 

A twig snaps from the direction Safiyah points her revolver and Diana spins to face it. Behind her, leaning against a tree with two pieces of a broken twig in her gloved hands is the enigmatic hero called the Question. The custom-fitted pin-striped pants and matching vest is no attire for a humid jungle, but Question seems content with just her sleeves rolled to her elbows and her fedora tilted on her head, small tufts of dark hair curl around her ears and beneath the brim.

Despite the thin mask that hides her facial features, Diana knows the Question smiles at them. Question tosses the twig and pushes herself from the tree, tipping her hat toward Diana.

“Wonder Woman,” she says with a gallant wave of her hand and a slight bow. “Funny running into you here. Or anywhere, for that matter.”

Diana acknowledges her with a smile. “It's very nice to see you, Renee.” 

“Well, color me flattered you know my name.” Beneath the mask, Diana knows Question nearly blushes. “It's _always_ nice to see you, Diana.”

It's difficult to miss the way Safiyah holds Question in an intimidating glare, how the revolver in her hand trembles quietly with a fury before the hammer is replaced and she extends her finger off the trigger to rest along the side of the curved metal protection. 

Diana is half surprised at her silence, but she doesn't spare Safiyah a glance. The feeling inside her has returned, stronger than ever, and it tells her never to look back at Safiyah again. Diana quietly thanks her gods and listens.

Question presses the hidden button on her belt and the gas hisses, mixes with the night mist and then gives her cover long enough to remove the mask. She deftly folds the putty-like mask and puts it away the no-face of Question. Renee Montoya almost grins at her. 

“So, should I ask what the princess of Themyscira is doing in the middle of the jungle with this riff raff?” she asks, pointing a thumb toward Safiyah without acknowledging her. 

Behind her, Diana can feel Safiyah fume and she is about to correct Renee when something inside her pulls. It feels like her insides move before her body knows to follow, one step away from Safiyah and another toward Renee, like her very soul knows there is nothing Safiyah can offer her, not even the false comfort of validating insecurities. Diana understands now.

Safiyah is powerless now and she no longer has a voice. All she can do is glare daggers toward them as Renee places a hand on her shoulder and leads her away.

“I'm not sure I would know how to answer that even if I tried,” Diana says with a small shake of her head.

“It's just the magic of the night, princess,” Renee tells her with a solemn grace the real Renee never really possessed. It doesn't suit her. “Just like you told Kate.”

From the corner of her eye, Diana can see Renee raise her other gloved hand, flipping Safiyah a visible middle finger that makes the anger behind them radiate and flame. The crude gesture actually amuses Diana. Safiyah's presence follows them, but Diana doesn't know if she trails behind them or if she stays veiled in shadow and she doesn't look back to find out. 

-

Kate leads them up an incline one careful step at a time. The loose debris of the jungle floor makes the climb treacherous and one poorly placed foot can mean an express ticket back to the ground below with a complimentary broken bone or two. She can't shake the feeling of a thick fog that threatens to squeeze out her breaths before she can take them. It's like a malevolent intent that's married itself to the night mist and scrapes along her exposed skin in a cruel caress. She almost shudders, but fights the urge.

She glances around from shadow to shadow, knowing it's not Cheetah she's feeling, but something else, someone else. Something ancient that wants to harm. 

“It's Circe you feel now,” Steve finally says a few steps below her. He seems unsurprised and perhaps too calm for her liking and it makes her glance down at him. She sees a thought pass over his eyes. “You don't know about Circe, do you?”

“What about her?” she asks and she can feel the woman's hatred around her like a miasma made of malice, everywhere at once, like moonlight she doesn't quite trust. Kate isn't sure she likes the look on Steve's face just now. She grounds her feet firm in her footholds and turns to face him.

His eyes fall away and she swears she sees a darkness come into them, something uncharacteristic of the real Steve Trevor. It's an unflattering shadow that doesn't suit his All-American Boy imagine.

“They're bound by Hecate's prophecy,” he says. “The death of one fosters the death of the other. I've never seen anyone scare her like Circe scares her.”

Kate stares at him, almost demands. 

“What the hell are you on about, LT?” 

Steve looks at her like he's considering whether she's worth telling this to and she finds herself bristling at the idea of being judged by a shade like this. She shakes her head and turns back toward the hike, the top of the hill only a few steps away. Not too much farther beyond this rise, the feeling in her says. Almost there. With each step, she feels it somehow strengthen.

“What do you know about Hecate?” he asks her and she shrugs.

“That she's the goddess of witchcraft?” 

“And the moon and night and consensual night time activities and the childbirth that results from them, who turned scorned women into animal familiars and fought both giants and her sibling titans with twin torches at Zeus's side, who helped Demeter look for her abducted daughter,” he says. “She's gone by several names, you understand. Circe's power is Hecate's power and Hecate wants it back.”

It will always feel eerie to her how this Steve-not-Steve speaks words and wisdoms that aren't his to speak, like now when he talks of a goddess Kate knows isn't one of Diana's olympians, but who he describes with words like she were or should be. 

“I'm not tracking,” Kate says, eying him carefully from the top of the hill as he covers the rest of the distance. “What's Diana got to do with them?” 

Steve's boots are heavy on the moist packed earth as he tests each footing before trusting his full weight on it. When he's within reach, she grips a firmly rooted sapling beside her and extends her hand to him. Steve considers it for only a moment before he grabs hold of her hand and she helps pull him up. 

“What better vessel to house Hecate's soul than one that bears her name and is blessed by the olympians who wronged her?” he says, when he's over the ledge and beside her on level ground. 

Kate stops and looks at him. Greek mythology has never been her strong suit, but she did a little research when she and Diana had started seeing each other casually, wondering how much of it was true and how much of it was tall tales turned legend by wistful storytellers.

“Wait. Stop. Hold on.” Kate makes a face and presses her fingertips to her forehead while she shuts her eyes. “That's not at all what her name comes from. She was named after _your_ mother.”

“So it's just a coincidence a pilot named Diana crash landed on Themyscira?” 

Kate frowns. “You're saying this is all orchestrated.”

“I'm saying Hecate needs both her soul and a body equipped to house it. Circe has one and Diana has the other. The minute either one of them dies, Hecate claims them both. That's the prophecy.”

“So, they both stop existing,” Kate says. She runs her hand through her hair. “That's insane.” 

“Her life tends to be.”

“No, really. That is literally, verifiably insane,” Kate insists. “You mean to tell me that anything can happen to Circe, anyone else can kill her, or hell, she could kill herself if she wanted to halfway across the entire freakin' planet and poof, just like that, Diana's gone? One moment she's eating jam toast beside me and the next she's pushed out of existence?” 

“I wouldn't say it would be exactly like that, no.” 

“Then what would you say it would be like, Trevor?” she demands. “Maybe she'll have an inkling its about to happen? Maybe she'll have time to say goodbye?”

“I wouldn't know, ensign.” 

She glares. 

“Then what use are you? Huh? What's the point of you? What's the point of any of this,” she indicates the jungle all around her, “if she can just be taken away like that at any moment?”

She is livid. Angry. She doesn't know why this Steve-not-Steve even told her any of this. Is this whole illusion designed to scare her away? Hadn't they already been through their trial? Aren't they supposed to be reaping the reward now instead of having more threatening unhappy endings shoved in their faces?

The way he watches her is familiar. He is calm and the shadows of his eyes are no longer his. The mask of Steve Trevor cracks a little and Kate can see someone else in the way he holds himself, the solemn line of his lips. She swears she can see Athena. No, not Athena. Another mask shaped like Athena.

“She can always be taken away at any moment. That's what it means to love her,” Steve says with Athena's sentiments but his voice and there is a tender melancholy in his tone. “It means, she's yours, but not just yours, that she'll love you, but not just you, for however long she is allowed by your side and long after. She's accepted this. Have you?”

Kate falters. She'd thought she had. She thought she'd understood, but maybe she hadn't completely. The warm humid air turns cold and she fights a chill. Some reward this ceremony has turned out to be. Kate closes her eyes and forces her breath out in slow even exhales. She thinks she's getting it now.

“But it means she'll love me,” she says. “And that we'll find each other again somehow in every life that follows.” 

“Yeah, ensign,” Steve says and smiles. His presence is back to normal. Steady, slightly cocky, bright. She hears him chuckle. “It means that too.”

She's about to say something when the gunshot rips into the still night air and echoes all around, making it difficult to pinpoint its direction. Birds scatter in the night canopy leaving feathers to float down around her. She can still feel the ill will of Circe's invisible gaze and ignores it, pulling her attention to the sky overhead. The constant strum in her chest that tells her where to go begins to pulse now. 

Move, it says. Run. Now.

Kate doesn't hesitate. She slings the rifle across her back and runs, ignoring Steve's calls as they disappear in the dark behind her. 

Run, Kate Kane. There's still time. 

Don't waste it. 

-

“How we ended? Me and Kate?” Renee asks as they step around low hanging vines, the jungle floor beneath their feet almost spongy with the debris of decaying plant life. Renee scratches just behind an ear and shrugs. “You asking about the first time or the second time? Well, no, either way the answer's the same. I left her.” 

“Both times?” Diana asks.

“We were barely adults the first time. Kate was different then. She wasn't your unrelenting dawn yet. She didn't know who she was anymore,” Renee says and catches the look Diana gives her.

“But you did.” 

“I was just a beat cop on traffic duty back then, but I knew where my path was headed. Kate? She'd just had her path ripped out from under her and she wasn't coping well. I didn't know how to help and she didn't want it anyway. So, I walked away.” Renee fumbles with the compartment on her belt. “Excuse me while I fix my face.” 

Diana watches as she stops, leans over slightly, and pulls on the thin mask of the Question back into place. Maybe it's easier for her to talk without a face. Maybe it's easier to hide behind Question. 

“And the second time?” Diana asks.

“The second time, I was the lost mess and she'd found Batwoman.” Question is silent a moment before she says, tentatively, “But Charlie was dying, Diana. I owed it to him. I had to try. She knew what he'd done for me.” 

“You left her again.” Diana feels her heart move inside her. How many ways have you been abandoned, Kate, and by how many people? “And you stayed gone this time.”

“Never said I was proud of it. Life just led us away from each other, not to,” Question says, weaving between two small saplings and sliding down a short incline. She pauses at the bottom of it to look up at her. “You get it now, right? Why she fights the way she does against the things that are beyond her control? What makes her unrelenting?”

Diana thinks she does, thinks she understands a lot more. If Kate didn't fight, then her life, this life, all of the circumstances she can't control, all of the people she'd lost or who had abandoned her for things she couldn't change, it'd make her a pawn to all of that. It would make her powerless. So she fights instead even if its futile and she chooses to leave everyone first. 

Question stands at the bottom of the incline amongst dead foliage, head tilted up, watching her as she pieces things together. After another moment, she lets out a small whistle and lowers her gaze, a gloved hand finding her hip. She tilts her fedora to let the sweat beading on her forehead breath. 

“You almost got it,” Question says even though Diana hadn't voiced her thoughts “There's only one person she's never left.” 

At that moment, Diana catches a flash of white from the corner of her eye and the giggle almost echoes in the still of the dead night jungle. Diana's face lifts immediately and follows the trail of white, catching sight of blonde floating just before disappearing around a large moss covered tree. 

“Beth,” she says and immediately follows. 

She doesn't see the way the Question bows her head as if to accept the name as an answer she'd long sought for. She doesn't even see what happens to the Question. Diana only sees the vague image of Beth, weaving through the trees and around large boulders with a trail of giggles floating behind in her wake. Diana follows because something inside her tells her to, something tells her Beth is the key and all she has to do is catch up. 

Diana places a foot firm on the base of a large boulder and scales it, leaping over it cleanly as Beth runs around it. As she sails through the air, Beth turns her head, tilts it up to look at her, and Diana's taken aback. No, not Beth, Diana thinks when he comes down hard on the soft bed of debris. Her alter ego, Alice. The innocent giggles that echo around her are suddenly replaced by malevolent laughter. 

Alice takes off running, faster than any human has a right to be and leaving Diana to quicken her pace in pursuit. 

“Beth!” she calls after the figure that glows white in the darkness. 

Alice spins around, hands behind her back, skipping backwards like they only play a game of tag. The red of her lips is sanguine against her light complexion. Her eyes are dark with mischief. Or malice. As she follows, Diana doesn't see the shadows swallow the jungle around her, encroaching rapidly until there is nothing but them and the dark. Alice stops in her tracks.

“I know you're in there, Beth,” Diana says when she catches up. “I know you can hear me.”

Alice's laugh is cruel and she places a finger to her lips. Diana doesn't know why but her words collapse before her tongue can form them. Alice steps aside and then disappears in the shadow, leaving Diana alone as the darkness crawls to her feet. The air thickens around her, turns moist, almost like trying to breath beneath a heavy blanket. It doesn't smell like jungle anymore. The smell of fresh earth has been replaced by ...burlap and spent dirt, potatoes maybe. 

All around her she hears shouting and footsteps heavy on wood, not the soft earth of a jungle. Diana can't see anything. She can't breathe through this suffocating mist. She just wants to breathe.

“She's dead. Mom's dead,” she hears and looks around. “They killed her.” 

“Shut up, Kate. They'll hear.”

It's two little girls, voices shaking, terrified or angry or both. Diana glances around the ink darkness, trying to peer through it. There's more commotion, doors rattling, gun powder faint in the air, men shouting, all of it swarms around her, so loud she has to cover her ears, but not loud enough to muffle the sounds of heavy breathing of two scared little girls. From the corner of her eye, Diana sees a flash of light and the gunshot echoes in her ears, shuddering violently in the air. Only one little girl is breathing now.

So much noise. So confusing in the dark. She can't see what's happening, but her heart is pounding in her chest. She doesn't know what's happening, but somehow she knows if she calls out to Beth, she won't get an answer. This thick darkness is suffocating and Diana feels it in her lungs. She's drowning and she just wants to keep breathing. 

Oh, Kate. You were just a girl when this happened, just a little girl.

Diana's heart is breaking for the girl who sat in this darkness struggling to breathe and listened to all of this noise around her, knowing that the third bullet fired would be for her. It breaks for the woman she'll become who'll often wonder why she was the one rescued, why her? Why not Beth? Beth was Sir's favorite. Beth was Kate's favorite. Beth was everyone's favorite. It should have been Beth. 

Diana nearly crumples in the lonely darkness. There is nothing inside her that tells her where to go anymore, no feeling that compels her to move. That certainty she'd started this night with has abandoned her. All she feels right now is a longing so lonely it's indescribable. She clings to it. 

She hears it faintly first, almost too faint to believe it isn't just another trick of the night. She still holds her breath and waits, listening for it once more. It comes again, still faint but slightly stronger. 

“Diana!” 

She hears her name on a voice her heart knows better than her own and trusts more now than her own senses. Kate. Kate is calling her. The absent longing inside her returns and flares, tugging on her soul almost and pulling her in one direction, pulling her toward Kate. Diana listens and lets it guide her. 

She takes off into the inky black. She can't see, but she doesn't need to. She knows where she's going now. She knows where her path leads.

-

Kate shouts Diana's name even though she doesn't know if she's even in earshot. Her heart beat thunders in her ears as she dashes through the jungle, splashing through a small stream and kicking up small stones.

Keep moving. Don't stop. Not until you find her, not until you see her again. 

Kate can feel something pulling inside her, drawing her closer to where she needs to be, to wherever she's sure she'll find Diana. Fuck this jungle and the ghosts in it. Fuck all of their past regrets. She has no need of them anymore. She doesn't want to carry them in her pocket everywhere she goes anymore. She just wants Diana. For however long she can have her. It's enough, she thinks. It'll be enough. 

A second gunshot echoes violently in the air around her and Kate curses and tries to ignore it. She's fine. Diana's fine. Shut up and move, soldier. She comes to a stop, kicking up decaying plant debris, and shouts Diana's name again, then pauses and listens. 

She barely hears it, but it's there, unmistakably there somewhere in the distance. Diana's voice is calling to her. There, her eleven o'clock. 

Kate takes off running. The rifle bumps against her back, the magazine digging into her side each time. In the distance, just before her, she can see a steep incline, easily twenty feet over her head. She skids to a stop at its base just in time to see Diana summit the top. Kate's breath catches at the sight of her and she stops, chest heaving with the effort of the run.

It's like seeing her for the first time or being seen by her for the first time. She feels that same rush and relief that comes with the first breath after breaking the water's surface, how her body flares to life with the sudden rush of oxygen. The smile Diana gives her is nothing short of magnificent.

“Kate.”

Everything inside Kate tumbles at the smile and the sound of her name on Diana's voice. She stares up at her and grins. 

“Hey, bat charmer.” 

The bow and quiver of arrows slung across Diana's back scatter to the ground forgotten and she's down the slope faster than Kate can climb up it. When she's within reach, Kate drops the assault rifle and yanks her near. Holding her has never felt so right. The feeling in her chest she'd trusted all night pulses warm, like kindling lighting a hearth. 

As soon as one word is uttered, they're both speaking, desperately trying to both listen and express the feeling blossoming in their chests.

“I knew it was you,” Diana says. She cannot hold tight enough. “I felt–.”

“ – knew I would find you – “

“ – something pulling me –“

“ – telling me to move – “

“ – to you.”

“Yeah. To you.” Kate grips her tightly. “You're real, right? You're you?”

“Yes, it's me, Kate.” Diana's laugh is soft and humbled. “And you're you?” 

“The genuine article, yeah.” Kate can only grin. She says, “It was the bond, wasn't it? That pulling feeling that brought you to me?” 

“Yes, I think so.”

Diana pulls from Kate's embrace just enough to look at her, scraping tender knuckles across Kate's cheek, admiring the curve of her cheekbone and the line of her jaw. Gently, Kate takes her hand in hers and brings them to her lips, laying a tender kiss along the base of her fingers. Diana's breath hitches lightly, catching Kate's attention.

“What's wrong?” 

“Your breath,” Diana says, uncertainly. “It's warm.” 

Before Kate can question, Diana gently pulls her hand free, touching her face lightly, before bringing her fingers to the edge of Kate's hairline where she lets her nails scrape through the strands along her scalp, combing back her red hair with both hands now and her breath catches again. 

She kisses her, softly at first, trying to contain the way her fingers tremble with the thoughts she's too afraid to voice yet. She kisses her again, deeper, claiming her mouth when Kate's lips part and lets her in. Diana nibbles her bottom lip and then bites, hard, and a phantom stab of pain pulses in her own lip. They both wince. Kate stares at her.

“You felt that,” she says. 

Diana breathes and then nods. 

“Yes.”

Like she used to, back when she was sensitive to temperature. Kate holds her gaze, tightening her arms around her. She smoothes Diana's hair and gently holds her face in her palms, placing soft kisses on her eyebrows, her eyelids, her cheek, running a thumb along her brow. Every touch is echoed through her own body, fainter than a physical touch but eliciting the same reactions. She feels like she's filling up inside, overflowing, like her body suddenly isn't enough to house her soul and these dainty shadows of sensations, Diana's sensations, ones she is sharing with her now even as they breathe. She feels like she carries Diana's soul with her own. 

Kate can still feel the heavy atmosphere Anaea had warned them about at the start of the night, but it no longer feels eerie, no longer sparks a feeling of caution. There is still something enchanting swirling invisible all around them, something familiar and comforting and profound. 

It's love. It hums all around them, vibrating gently against Kate's skin and eliciting soft goosebumps. Love is almost a physical sensation now, like temperature or humidity. Love simply now exists in the world around them, free of the confines of their hearts, and held by their gravitational pulls. Kate feels surrounded by it, swaddled, held gently in its soft, secure embrace.

“Oh, god, Diana,” she starts, but her voice is so quiet it cracks with the threat of her tears. 

She can't speak anymore. She can only kiss her instead. Every touch is unbearably intimate. Every part of her feels caressed at the same time. Every bit of her is compelled to indulge. They are so consumed with this new level of feeling that they don't notice the jungle fading away as the shadows that chased Diana finally catch up and swallow everything whole. 

When they look, they're back in the room with the fountain, the soft sound of water tumbling into itself rising lightly in the air around. They are alone. The room has settled around them as if they'd never left it, but the touch of the ghost mist of the forest still lingers like a fading memory on their skin. Kate suppresses a shiver. The shiver, as if blocked by her, jumps the distance between them into Diana and runs freely through her. It alarms Kate enough to look at her and she catches the surprised look on Diana's face. Stunned almost, Diana lifts a hand and points. 

Kate follows the point of her fingers and finally sees them. Resting on the edge of the fountain are two new hand guards, one gold and the one silver. Wordlessly, they both pick up the one left for them and exchange glances.

The craftsmanship is beyond stunning, beautifully detailed filigree expertly forged into its delicate shapes, leaving the gaps open for their skin to breathe. Kate can tell just by holding it how much sturdier this new guard feels, somehow stronger and impossibly light at the same time. There's no possible earth-based ore and no possible mortal crafter who can pull off such a feat. It has to be a gift from the gods. 

“This is the work of Hephaestus,” Diana says. 

“Huh,” Kate says, almost marveling. “Damn cheeky gods.” 

They both carefully turn their guards over. They both can't help but smile at the sight of their red quartz stones, inset nearly flush against the metal of the underside. There's just enough lip protruding that it can still be struck easily against a bracer, but not enough to catch on anything with daily wear. 

Diana places her hand on Kate's to still her. Gently, she sets her guard back on the stone fountain and holds Kate's gaze as she carefully slips her guard from her fingers. Her other hand caresses the back of Kate's hand and with deft fingers, coaxes her hand over to expose the underside of her wrist. Diana bows her head and kisses her palm with soft lips and then parts her lips slightly to run just the tip of her tongue along the warm flesh. Kate almost gasps. Diana kisses her pulse and slips the guard on her hand, fastening it with breathtaking diligence. Kate has never felt so cared for. 

She reaches for the gold guard still waiting on the fountain's edge and holds Diana's hand to her cheek, indulging just a moment in her touch. Then she kisses her palm and claims her pulse with the same level of care before sliding the guard on. Kate kisses the pad of each fingertip as she fastens it. She stays bowed for a moment longer and closes her eyes. 

They are bonded now, intimately tied together with a shared paradise to look forward to. She doesn't know she cries until Diana tenderly wipes the tears away, her smile filled with such love. 

“It's done, Kate,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am yours now and you are mine.” 

Kate kisses her. 

They don't exchange another word before they exit the room hand in hand. The night is near over and the sun will be dawning soon. They want to slip through the city of Themyscira and the palace without being noticed by anyone and slip into Diana's room where they can explore this new connection in privacy behind closed doors. 

In the shadows with their presence veiled, five patron goddesses watch them leave. Each had a part to play in this moment and each individually feeling the love that lives in the air tonight. Hestia, who provided the eternal flame to forge the bond and the hand guards that symbolize it, Demeter who honed and baked the ruby quartz stones for Diana to find, Artemis who made them both the hunted and the hunter of their own bonding, Athena who saw what fears lay within their hearts that could threaten their bond and assigned them a trial to tackle them, and Aphrodite who saw love when they themselves did not. 

“I have not seen the weaving of the bond so artfully designed.” Hestia gives Artemis' hand a quick squeeze. “The weaving takes so long sometimes, I sometimes fear they'll grow impatient.” 

“I feel as though our Diana and her Kate would have endured,” Demeter says from her perch on the edge of the stone fountain. She glances over her shoulder and gives Artemis a warm smile. “Your ceremony was much like you, little sister, unique and quite memorable.” 

Beside Athena, Aphrodite gazes at the empty door Kate and Diana disappeared through a few moments earlier. She is caught somewhere in her thoughts. She is naturally radiant, but she almost beams now, folding her arms across her chest with great satisfaction. 

“It was perfect, Artemis,” she says and then cocks an eyebrow Athena's way. “Don't you agree, Athena?” 

Athena is quiet for a moment before she gives a nod and a smile with the new characteristic softness Artemis is still getting used to seeing. 

“I do, Aphrodite. It was, indeed, a feat skillfully accomplished,” Athena says. “As I have come to expect of you, young master hunter.” 

Artemis flairs crimson at the change in moniker. When Athena beckons her near with a finger, she abides with a huff, unused to such compliments and this air of equity from her older sister goddesses. With a hand flat on the small of her back, Athena guides Artemis in between herself and Aphrodite. Artemis is short enough for Aphrodite to comfortably lean her elbow on her shoulder, her free hand on her hip. 

They've stopped to watch Diana and Kate slipping from the tree line and through the gates of the city. Sometimes, they stray some distance apart from each other, testing the pull of the new bond that exists between them, learning how. Even in the dark, it inevitably draws them back together. 

“All right, the show's over,” Aphrodite finally says, wiping out the viewing screen. “What comes next is for them alone. I'm sure the comforts of home will be much preferred.”

-

Diana opens the door to her room in the palace and thinks little of it when she sees the entryway of their apartment in Gotham. She registers a small surprise inside that she knows isn't her own, somehow knows by instinct it's Kate's. It feels almost too natural, as if she'd always felt echoes of Kate inside herself like this. She holds the door and watches Kate walk through, catches soft whiffs of lavender as she passes by. Diana uses a different fragrance to preserve small moments like this, comfortable pangs of belonging deep inside whenever she catches the scent of lavender.

Kate disappears around the corner of the short entry before Diana is over the threshold and closing the door. She doesn't mind. She can still feel her, nestled close in a section of her heart where she keeps all precious things. She takes her time to turn the bolt and slide the chain in the lock. She hears the soft steps of Kate's bare feet on the wood flooring behind her.

She feels the pull inside her like a sharp wanting, a sudden need. Kate has pulled on the bond. Come here, it says. Come be with me. Diana doesn't respond with a tug of her own. She merely follows the insatiable need to comply. 

The bond guides her to their bedroom where Kate is just setting a tray of ice cubes on her beside table, the blue of the chilled plastic slightly whitened with soft ice fuzz. Kate casts a sidelong glance over her shoulder at her and lets out a smile that makes Diana's stomach tumble. Kate pulls the blank tank up and over head, tossing it somewhere. Her thumbs hook beneath the elastic of her shorts and then slowly pulls them down. She yanks on the bond again even though they stand a mere five feet apart. It almost makes Diana fall apart right there.

“You're a terrible tease, Kate Kane,” she says, advancing and relieving herself of her own shirt.

“Then come over here and shut me up, princess.” 

Kate intercepts her when she's within reach with an aggressive kiss, her nails scraping along her scalp before she fists her hair and Diana mirrors the action. They both nearly groan at the feeling. The echoes of their touches feel more like ripples now, after shocks almost radiating from an intimate epicenter. 

They're possessive, but unhurried. There's too much to touch and feel and grab, too much sensation from just this innocent skin to skin. She can't get enough. Kate's fingers have freed her of the rest of her clothing and Diana steps out of the pool of cloth they make at her feet. 

She's nearly struck dumb when Kate reaches over to the ice cube tray where the cubes have begun melting and have loosened from the tight hold they once had on the plastic walls. It's easy for her to lift one up with her fingers and the cold of it is nearly numbing. 

They know this intimate connection of shared sensations is rare, only coming in times of heightened emotion, when the minute particles of love that now exist as a spectral bond between them can be harnessed and utilized to transfer feeling.

She catches Diana's eye and holds it when she shamelessly places the sweating cube against her chest, just below the dip of her collarbone and slowly draws it down. The shock of the sudden cold she hadn't felt in weeks undoes Diana completely. She is on Kate faster than either of them know, licking up the chill trail the ice cube leaves behind. It's almost overwhelming, the sear of her hot tongue immediately dousing the frigid burn of ice on her skin as it travels down between her breasts. They both shiver. Kate nearly moans. Diana feels like weeping. 

Kate was never particularly moved one way or another for such foreplay on herself. She could take it or leave it. She does this for Diana. She does this to let Diana feel what they both know she misses. It never felt so intense before, though, never like they could crawl inside each other and gently kiss the raw seams of their beating hearts. Tonight, Diana cradles Kate's fragile mortality in her arms and entrusts her own to Kate. 

She's never felt so full of love and trust. She's never felt so treasured and trusted. It makes her swoon and fall even more. 

End.

 **Next:** Bonus ridiculously long sequel/epilogue one shot. The Daughters Of. A peek in Kate and Diana's future, Orithia and Anaea's past, and Athena and Pallas' past and future.


	22. The Daughters Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus one shot. A peek into the future for Kate and Diana, a peek into the past for the Orithia and Anaea, and the past and future for Pallas and Athena.

**Just outside Gotham's city limits, 2031  
The time of Kate and Diana**

Evenings at home for them are no longer quaint quiet affairs. They have had to cut back on over night missions and late night prowling. Diana is finishing up wiping down the kitchen, listening to the patter of feet and high pitched laughter. It's a few minutes passed nine-thirty, long passed the time little feet should be tucked in tight in bed listening to the night's bedtime story. Finally, a quiet befalls the house. 

She knows how this time always starts with those two, like they'd read off a script so many times, she has it branded on her heart. 

_“So, once, a long, long time ago, on an island far away, there was a warrior.”_

_“You have to say his name.”_

_“All right, all right. Let me start over. Once, a very long time ago, on an island far away, there was a warrior named Oscar.”_

_“No, his whole name. You have to say his whole name.”_

_“Oy vey. Okay, okay, Once upon a time, there was a warrior named Oscar of the Thousand Spears. Happy? What's with the face now?”_

_“Mother never says 'Once upon a time'.”_

_“Well, good thing she's not the one telling the story tonight, if you even get a story tonight, beansprout.”_

As if on cue, Diana hears the indignant protest, the high pitched call of distress for her, and knows where in their ritual bickering they are. She has trained herself to differentiate between the ones that are real and the ones that are merely perceived and part of her wonders if she should be a little more worried a girl so young can know real distress. 

“Proceed with the story, Kate,” she calls up the stairs as she passes, carrying her mug with her. The silence that answers her is an amicable response.

She takes a seat on the sofa with her mug of hot water waiting for the spiced fruit tea to steep and pulls her feet on the cushion beneath her. It gives off a comforting aroma of citrus and cinnamon, both airy and light, but also grounded and earthy. It's the flavor of the first break of dawn after a night waged battle when one's senses are alight and alive and one's spirit is connected terrestrially to mother Gaea, and in her own private associations, to Kate and the morning her blood was spilled on Themyscira by Diana's blade.

Usually, she has just enough time to finish a mug with a little light reading before Kate finds her again. She is often reading several books of varying genres. Tonight, she picks up the collected works of Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai and settles comfortably to read. She'd found the collection the first morning she'd awoken in Kate's bed, before it had become their bed, back in the old Gotham apartment.

“Famous Jewish poet,” Kate had said of Amichai when she found Diana seated on the couch browsing the pages of the collection. “Which poem are you on?”

Her eyes were still touched by sleep and her hair was disheveled from their passionate night. Diana had smiled at her, received her kiss, and said good morning before glancing at the bolded title printed on the page in her hands. 

“ _A Pity, We Were Such a Good Invention_ ,” she said.

“That's a good one.” Kate grinned as she settled on the opposite side of the couch. “A little erotic, kinda hot.”

Diana read the short poem and had said, “It feels more melancholic and bitter. Resigned. Controlled, but angry.”

“It's all of that too. All of his stuff's like that, calm and kind of boring at first glance, but with all those things boiling underneath,” Kate said, propping her elbow on the end of the couch to lean her head against her open palm. “I don't think I ever really understood what any of his poems were really saying, but they used to hit me in all the right ways when I was a kid.”

Diana had agreed with her then that what was being said in the poems was difficult to pinpoint precisely, but the assault of contradicting emotions was real and evident, powerful. It is more so now that she is older and has experienced herself the confusing tumbling of tangled feelings, how bitterness and measured anger can be excised by razor sharp arousal to expose the soft marrow of love. Periodically, she will retrieve this collection of poems and reread some, curious to see how her perspective of their words may have changed.

She is only halfway through her mug tonight when she feels Kate tug on the bond between them, summoning her upstairs. _Hey, come here._ She continues reading. She has learned to pick and choose these summons. More than once, Kate has abused it only to ask that she hand her the cellphone that is a mere few inches from her reach.

The next tug is more of a yank, but Diana doesn't move. Instead, she lifts the mug to her lips and takes a leisure sip before pulling once in reply. _No, you come to me._ This is her half-hour of reading after all. 

She hears Kate round the sofa with a telltale expression on her face. She marks her spot with a finger and lets the book close when Kate takes a seat beside her and plucks the still steeping tea from its coaster to take a sip. 

“I'm officially tagging out,” Kate says, turning away and moving the mug out of Diana's reach for another sip when she tries to reclaim it. “You have a go at it.”

“If you stopped antagonizing her, you wouldn't have this problem,” Diana tells her when she successfully retrieves her tea. It makes Kate grin. 

“It's not my fault she doesn't have her mother's patience.” 

With a soft laugh, Diana replies, “It grows late, lovely, and she needs her rest.” 

“She asked about him.” Kate hesitates just for a moment before she says, “I mean, the real him.” 

The comment piques Diana's interest and she sets her book on the coffee table and settles against the armrest facing her, bringing the mug to her lips.

“And how did she know of the real him?” she asks, angling her head to spy her consort with an air of amusement. She stretches her legs out and crosses her ankles over Kate's lap who rests her forearms on them. 

Kate swears her innocence and then says, “Raedne, it seems. Or Derinoe, but I think Derinoe has a little more sense to know what that might do to her.” 

“I think so too.” Diana simpers and lets out a quiet smile. “What did you tell her about him?” 

“The truth.” Kate chuckles when Diana places a hand to her forehead to hide her embarrassment. “Yes, Diana, my dear, my darling charmer of my eternal heart, your deception has been exposed and I am ever so kind to let you explain this to her.”

Diana gives an absentminded nod as a few bittersweet memories come to mind. She takes a bigger sip of tea, intent on finishing it quickly and raises to her knees on the cushion to stand. Kate hooks her around the waist and pulls her to her, forcing Diana to throw a knee over her lap to straddle it, holding the mug a safe distance away to avoid spilling.

“Better hurry up and go,” Kate says, but her arms are firm on Diana's waist and keep her seated on her lap when she starts to move. “She's absolutely destroyed.” 

“I imagine she is.” Diana gives her a sweet, chaste kiss. “Her world is forever changed now.”

“Toss up, really, whose side she gets that from.” 

“A little from both if I were to guess.” 

Kate chuckles and then taps her lips one more time, gazing up at her still so stupidly in love. This time, Diana gives Kate a proper kiss that nearly winds her and then eases from her lap before she can recover. She stands just long enough to finish her tea, sets the mug back on the coaster, and tells her she'll be right back. Then she starts for the hallway for the bedroom where a distraught little girl, seven going on eight, sits on her bed and waits for her mother to make sense of her world again. 

“How are you doing, little dove,” Diana says as she pulls back the covers of the small twin bed and slips beside the little girl who sits hugging her knees, ignoring her. 

She places an arm around her daughter's slim shoulders, stiff and rigid. She begins to draw her near, but the little girl resists, clearly upset and trying to ignore her. Diana tries to remember how her little face puffs up with wounded pride before she looks away, trying hard not to let another angry tear fall. So much like her mom, this little one. 

“You have to talk to me, Oscar,” Diana says gently, with the patience only a mother who knows her child well can harness. “Or there will always exist this hurt between us.” 

 

“Mom said he was a cactus,” the little girl mumbles. “He wasn't a great warrior. He didn't have a thousand spears. He didn't save you. He didn't save anyone. He was a stupid cactus. You named me after a cactus.” 

After a short moment, Diana adjusts the pillow behind her and then shifts lower in the bed. She lets her hand glide to Oscar's back and strokes softly beneath the soft locks of dark hair. 

“Let me tell you a story,” she says, threading her fingers through the soft tresses still damp from her bath. “It's a story about love and anger and how your mom and a little cactus brought me back from a terrible darkness.”

She feels the slight muscles of Oscar's back shift as her toes find a comfortable place on the sheets, a telltale sign of a ferocious inner battle between curiosity and proud. Diana chuckles quietly and allows her a few more minutes to think.

“Would you like to hear it?” she asks and Oscar finally nods, still not looking at her. “Come here then, love, and I'll tell you all about it.” 

She guides the little head to her belly where she can stroke her hair gently and admire her features. Diana thinks she sees her mother in Oscar. She has Hippolyta's face and her sculpted brow, even the way it creases now when she's upset. 

“This story starts long ago, on an island so far away it was long forgotten by the rest of the world, there lived a girl, the daughter of a great warrior, who wanted nothing else but to earn that honor. She never thought it would be so difficult.” 

“What happened?” Oscar asks. “What made it difficult?” 

“The worst possible thing, little dove,” Diana says. “She fell in love.” 

-

**An isle that would later become Crete, when the world still felt new  
Eons before the time of Kate and Diana**

As far as Athena was concerned, the daughter of Triton had a lot of natural talent with a spear and shield, but it was all wasted on her. This Pallas, as she had been introduced as, didn't seem terribly serious about their studies of war under Triton's tutelage. 

Pallas had no respect for the art they were being taught. She was too easily distracted by a bird on the breeze or a honey bee dining on a flower's nectar. She would spend hours observing the way the waves of the sea crested against the rocky shore of the bay with a focus and a precision absent in their practices. Still, she would match Athena in skill and ability at every opportunity or surpass her simply because she'd wanted to. It infuriated Athena.

She had never encountered something or someone she could not see clearly or figure out quickly. Athena was unused to mystery and conundrum then and her reaction to it was one of indignation. How dare this sea princess be so effortlessly disconcerting.

Once, Pallas paused in the middle of a spar to watch a fox sprint across the fields. If Athena had not been paying attention, the sharpened tip of her weapon would have pierced her side. She angled the pointed blade just in time to miss and nearly skidded to a stop.

“Blood of Cronus, Pallas, I nearly ran you through!” she scolded, tossing her weapon aside. “Must you stop to admire everything that catches your eye?” 

Pallas' sea-foam eyes had settled on her and her lips lifted in a smile that riled Athena's irritation even more. She was the sort of woman who was just as she appeared to be for the most part, a quiet and thoughtful girl with thoughts grander than her presence allowed. Every now and again, like now, something smooth and self-assured would sneak its way into her smile and light up her eyes.

“If that were true, Athena, I would be guilty of doing nothing but admire you every time a breath filled your lungs with air.”

Athena placed a hand on her hip and contained a sigh. They'd been training together for a few years now and comments like this were becoming more common, replacing the spirit of rivalry that once surged between them. Just like that, once Athena had finally settled on her view of her, Pallas changed the rules. 

“I cannot win with you,” Athena said, shaking her head. “Do you take nothing seriously, daughter of Triton?” 

Pallas smiled. “Only the things I must, daughter of Zeus.” 

“Which, of course, do not overlap with the things you should.” 

“You value propriety too much.” 

“And you value puerility.” 

Athena turned to walk toward a carved stone bench where they had laid their things. She stripped the bracers from her forearms. When she turned back, Pallas had closed the distance between them. The sudden proximity startled Athena and she stepped back, her heel catching on the spear and rolling with it on the ground. 

Pallas grabbed the front of her robes and yanked her forward before she could fall backward. Athena stumbled forward instead, caught around the waist by Pallas who ground her heels in to the dirt to steady them both.

“I value now. I value how the world and life is and also how you and I are right now,” Pallas said, holding her still with both firm hands and firm gaze. “Is that not precious to you too?” 

Something rattled inside Athena and she gave a huff. She disengaged herself, stepping away quickly to force a calm breath like nothing had happened.

“Now is too fleeting to hold so dear. We change too quickly to cope,” she said, bending to pick up her bracers. “We are not the same Pallas and Athena we were when I first arrived and we have not yet met the Pallas and Athena we will be when I leave next year. How can I value the us now over all other versions of us?”

Pallas came beside her to help pick up their scattered equipment. 

“Do you never stop thinking and just feel?” she asked her, lifting a wooden practice shield from where it leaned against a rock.

Athena had frowned. 

“No, never.” 

The smile on Pallas' face was almost melancholic. She reached over and brushed her fingertips at the corner of Athena's lips, like she could imagine the blueprint of a smile she'd never seen her make. 

“That causes me much distress, Athena,” she said, softly. “What I feel now is more beautiful than I can place in words for you to ponder. I wish I could share these feelings with you.” 

Athena held her breath. It was the first time she would ever remember doing so in front of Pallas. It was her first time blushing. This was the moment Athena will always recognize as the point where their relationship changed. 

Once again, Pallas had forged ahead, leaving her behind to notice on her own and catch up.

-

The breeze was particularly warm and scented with the fresh makings of oil from the recent harvest of olives. The hillsides were often scented, usually with herbs like sage and thyme, but this was the first time Athena had caught olives. Before her father Zeus sent her here, she'd never once thought much of the fruit tree too plentiful to be noticed and too ordinary to be special. That day, however, when she caught the smell of the oil from the village, she heard also a chorus of voices so earnestly beautiful it stopped Athena in her tracks.

A few steps ahead, Pallas slowly stood from the ground after picking a delicate flower and glanced back at her, a grin still childish spreading on her face that was beginning to lean with adulthood. 

“Much has happened while your attention has been on the art of combat. A new people have settled the isle. They have discovered the olive tree and its fruit,” she said. “The hymn carries their gratitude and endeavors to please the ears of the gods who blessed them with this gift.”

Athena had been aware of their arrival and of their progress as they developed, but her attentions had been cursory at best and neglected the small details like this. She could imagine it now, though. The women of the village, both old and young, working the fields, picking the fruit, grinding the oil from the hard seed for cooking and light, and chopping dead trees for firewood and lumber, all joining the chorus to pass the work quicker. 

“Such a hymn of reverence for so common a tree,” Athena said, mulling it over. Food, warmth, and shelter, all from one single tree. She corrected herself. “No, not common. Humble.”

Pallas twirled a flower she'd picked slowly between her finger, watching Athena carefully with a ghost of a smile haunting the corners of her lips. She stepped back down the path and hooked her elbow around Athena's then dragged her to the side of the path where the dry grass grew. She pulled her down to sit with her. 

“We haven't the time to stop,” Athena started, but Pallas quietly shushed her.

“In a minute,” she said. “This moment will be a beautiful memory and I wish to share it with you a few moments more.”

Her eyes were closed and her chin titled slightly upward as the breeze caressed her face and played with the small waves of hair by her ear, tossing them about carelessly. Athena watched her as she sat motionless, listening to this song of women. She wondered what words Pallas might use to describe the feeling that gripped her now.

When Pallas opened her eyes and caught her staring, she smiled. She offered Athena the flower she held. Wordlessly, Athena accepted it, then reached over and tucked the strands of Pallas' hair in place before sliding the blossom's smooth stem behind her ear to hold them. She marveled at how the touch made Pallas freeze and flush crimson. A terrible fondness squeezed tight around her heart now and Athena laughed. 

“So this is how one disarms a daughter of Triton,” she said and her lips lifted in a smile.

Pallas looked away, but tightened the linking of their elbows. Athena understood now where thought stopped and feeling began. She settled against Pallas and they sat together in silence, listening to and feeling the gratitude that surrounded them. 

-

Since the day of the hymn, Athena discovered how much she enjoyed making Pallas' cheeks flush scarlet and she made every effort to do so every day. The easiest method was a simple touch, a palm placed flat on the small of her back made her blush, a brush of fingertips along the underside of her jaw turned her silent. Athena's finger would trail the curve of an eyebrow when she casually brushed hair that had fallen over the sea-foam eyes that would glaze like smoke and liquid in response.

Not long after, Athena discovered that the threat of touch was even more potent a tease. She would advance on Pallas until her back was to a wall and lean over her, supporting herself with a hand placed firm on the stone by her head. Athena would speak normally of casual topics with little bearing and watch Pallas' breath catch every time she moved, enjoyed the way she held it anticipating a touch that never came. 

One day when she had Pallas pinned against the South wall of the baths, she dared to lean so close she could not tell if the warmth on her lips was the humidity of the room or Pallas' weighted breath. Athena dropped her voice and spoke with devilish delight.

“This is unacceptable, dear Pallas. You are not giving our conversation its due attention. Have I become so dull to you?”

“No, not dull, Athena,” Pallas said, forcing her breath out evenly. “You have become considerably cruel instead.”

Athena was taken aback at this and straightened. It was enough to empower Pallas and created enough space for Pallas to slip from between her and the wall to the center of the hallway where there was the more space to breathe. With her towel clutched to her chest, she started for the door letting a laugh trail behind her.

“We should go. The hot water waits for no woman,” she said, “and I want to soak a little longer than usual tonight.”

Later that night, after they had settled in their bed rolls and their eyes adjusted to the dark, Athena broke the silence that had befallen the room.

“Do you really think me cruel, Pallas?”

“Yes, in the same way anticipation can be both exquisite and unbearable,” Pallas finally said after a long while. She shifted beneath her covers in the dark. “Relax and sleep. I never said I did not enjoy it.”

In the dark, Athena's eyes found Pallas' form outlined by moonlight that streamed from the high window. She listened to her even breathing, then settled more comfortably in her bedroll. 

-

**The Attikos region, just outside Athens, circa 1177 BCE  
Still long before the time of Kate and Diana**

They called her Orithia because the slave merchant hadn't known her name. No one on this side of the Aegean did. She'd left it behind with her voice and the ash of her people in Anatolia. Orithia had been just a child, not even five summers old, when she was purchased by a retired soldier named Erastos and his wife, Myrrine. Soon, all she would remember would be their villa and the sprawling fields of their land. She only remembered the land of the Hatti people in her nightmares.

Erastos and Myrrine had already crested forty years alive when they purchased her and apprenticed her to Philomena whose complexion was closest to Orithia's. She was their live-in cook and she had been Myrrine's slave since the two of them were very small girls. Orithia grew up without understanding how unusual it was Myrrine alternated nights between Erastos and Philomena or that the word slave and its expectations actually applied to her, but only when she was outside of their home. 

It was a peculiar patch-work family, but the three of them, the soldier, the wife, and the cook doted on Orithia as if she had been born to them. Her voice returned when she became used to the new name and she grew in the protective shade of their love.

Erastos worked as a potter and Orithia was his shadow. When it was apparent they could not keep her in the kitchen and out of his shop, she was apprenticed to him instead. For the first ten years of her life with them, she and Erastos were inseparable.

Sometimes, Erastos told her stories of Anatolia and the people he'd both met and fought against. At first he seemed pleased with her interest with his stories of a once great empire across the sea no one seemed to remember. Then her fascination shifted and she became more focused on his tales of battle, of hard training and long campaigns away from home, of misplaced glory and honor gained with the blood of an enemy, enemies Orithia did not know had looked like her. She wanted nothing more than to be a soldier like him, to serve a worthy sovereign and be revered a noble warrior. 

Philomena used to laugh at her, humming gayly while she prepped the evening meal. 

“My child, yours is a soul too gentle for war,” she'd said, not noticing the offense in the young girl's eye.

Once, at the supping fire when she was fourteen, Orithia had called Erastos' old Anatolian enemies Hatti barbarians. He smacked her with the back of his hand. Her plate of grapes and cheese scattered to the stone floor of the courtyard. Myrrine gasped but Philomena placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her head, easing her back down on her seat. Erastos had stood from his chair and hovered over Orithia, holding her in a gaze colder than she'd ever seen on him. He was nearing sixty-two but the strength of his hand was still startling. 

“This is a house of Athena, Orithia,” he said with carefully picked words. “Here, we do not speak of those conquered with the tongue of Ares. Is that understood?” 

Orithia bit her bloodied lip and nodded even though she hadn't understood. War was war, wasn't it? What did it matter if it was Ares or Athena? She kept her thoughts to herself because Philomena was right. Her heart was too easily bruised to be a soldier. She loathed this fact of herself. She wanted to be striking and strong, like Erastos, like she'd grown up believing him to be even if she was beginning to doubt it.

He stopped telling her stories of war and battle. He started taking her to the Parthenon to pray to Athena and a distance grew between them.

-

In the spring of her sixteenth year, she heard rumor of women warriors who once made a home south of Thebes, a city that lay now in abandoned ruins. Tales of a tribe of these warrior women's exploits in Troy, surely guided by Ares himself the stories said, made its way through Greece, passing from lip to lip, all the way to Orithia's infatuated ears. When she talked of them, Erastos chastised her harshly. Those women are damned, he'd said. They have abandoned the War Lady in favor of her brother the War Lord. Orithia was furious.

“What good is a War Lady who never wages war?” she shouted. “All she has done is plant olive trees and weave tapestries. She is just like you, a soldier passed his use and more scarred and scared than noble and wise!” 

Orithia will always remember the stricken look on Erastos' face when he dropped to his knees and begged forgiveness when she spun on her heels and fled. It would be centuries later, long after she'd joined the Themysciran amazons, that Orithia would realize he had not been hurt by her words. He had been scared for her, just as she'd been hours later when her words came haunting her in the night. They were afraid of Athena's judgment. 

Orithia did the only thing she knew to do. She prayed to Ares. She asked he shield her from Athena. She said she would do anything for his protection. 

“Anything is a term you mortals abuse without comprehending its meaning.” 

His voice was fire and fear and he smelled of ash and scorched earth. The War Lord stood impossibly tall in full armor before her, helmet tucked beneath an arm half hidden by his large sweeping cape. He gave Orithia no time to rethink or respond before slipping his helmet over her head. 

Her head filled with images, a city being razed to the ground, a people terrorized by Greeks, soldiers of Athens, who'd sailed the Aegean and landed on the shores of Anatolia. It was like the nightmares of her childhood, only more real than they'd ever been. Orithia could feel the heat of the flames around lapping at her skin, singing small hairs. The smell of burning flesh almost made her vomit. 

No, not a nightmare. A memory. Her memories. 

A woman nearby is crying. Orithia can just make out her dark figure through the crack in the trick door in the floorboards above her head. She sees the soldier's cape and the tree carved on his aegis that marked him as part of Erastos' garrison.The woman doesn't beg when the soldier lifts his blade. The sound of the slaughter above sickens Orithia and she crumples to her knees, covering her mouth, afraid he'll hear and kill her too. 

She is in a crawlspace. She moves further back in the space where there are no cracks in the floor board, pushes the cold food stores closer to the door and curls up behind them. When the soldiers discover the door, all they can see and reach are bottles of goat milk and pounds of wrapped cheese. They take the food and leave the girl they never knew was there. 

And then it was gone. Every sight and sound of the memory vanishes and once again, it was only Ares and Orithia. He reclaimed his helmet and drew the xiphos from the scabbard hitched at his side. He pressed the hilt of the short bladed sword in her shivering hands. 

“Be now a servant of true war,” he said. “And let your enemies fall at your feet.” 

Then he was gone and the world returned around her. Orithia will spend sleepless nights trying to reason out the events of the rest of that night, to perhaps give herself the same pardon so many others will bestow her much later in life when she would be a different person than she was that night. She will fail every time. 

It's because she remembers every second of it. She remembers each step she took that brought her back to the only home she knew. She remembers each step that led to Myrinne's part of the household. She remembers the way the women stirred beside each other in their sleep and the warmth of their blood when it splattered on her arms, the way it pooled dark on the sheets in the night. She remembers the sound of each drop of blood on the floor and how Erastos had been waiting for her in his sitting room, the one all three women were forbidden to enter. 

He looked defeated when he said, “I forgive you even if the War Maiden does not.” 

It was the last thing he said to her. Orithia couldn't stop herself, almost didn't want to, like it was all just the silly cruel dream of a naive child, like all of it would undo itself when morning came and she awoke. Her head remembered these three and who they were to her, but it knew it in a cold objectivity. Her heart was blocked, denied the right to attach the years of love to the facts that seemed so cold and foreign without its proper feelings. This is the explanation Orithia will come up with to describe what happened the night she slaughtered her family. 

She was wary but not aware, conscious but not connected. She was what Ares made her, a mere tool of war, and one he forgot as quickly as he made, leaving her heart still walled. Orithia was no longer able to feel and she could not form attachment. She could not feel love nor even hatred. She had no passion or ambition. She was empty. 

She spent the following decade wandering from battle to battle, war to war, like a phantom drawn to violence, learning to fight by thrusting herself in the midst of it. If she surrounded herself with the smells of plunder and blood, with the cries of suffering, her memories of both homes and both families taken by violence would float back to her. The tears were always sweet like honey with a lasting bitter aftertaste. It was the only time she could feel anything.

It was her encounter with a few other female warriors on a battle near the shores of the Black Sea that spread the tales of her. They were a small band of warriors dispatched from a distant home they called Bana Migdall, a temple of women. Her inability to feel was mistaken as stoicism and was highly regarded. The first battlefield they shared, the warriors were stunned in quiet reverence as she struck down her enemies with tears on her face. 

Orithia became known as the battle maiden who wept in every battle and prayed to Ares after each one survived to unwrap her heart. He never answered. 

She traveled a year's time with them, these Bana amazons they called themselves, down the sloping coast that hugged the Aegean. The women were close, naturally coupling as the year came to an end. Despite the attentions she drew, Orithia remained aloof and unclaimed. They invited her to join them on their way home to lands where people looked more like her but the gods had names she did not recognize and bore on their shoulders the heads of animals instead of men. She declined the offer and when they parted, she felt no more for them then she would for strangers with whom she'd shared only a single night's campfire. The hollow inside where a bond of companionship to these women should have formed echoed her thoughts of disdain long after. 

-

Finally, after surviving one more battle, Orithia knelt in the mud and with a bent head, asked for Athena instead. The War Lady appeared as if she had been waiting for this moment and at her side was the Lady Love. 

Aphrodite knelt before Orithia and touched her finger tips to her chest, eyebrows furrowed in thought. The goddesses chatted amongst themselves for a moment, ignoring her. 

“It is quite mangled. The bruising is bad and she has lost a whole chamber. It's doubtful it will ever heal,” Aphrodite said before standing again. “But this is damage that can be lived with should she will it.”

With a quiet nod of her head, Athena thanked Aphrodite and then set her eyes on Orithia, sinking on knees in blood drunk earth with tear-stained cheeks spotted with the blood of those defeated by her blade. She approached her calmly with self-assured steps that did not touch the mud of the earth.

“Asherah, daughter of Ashtoreth, renamed Orithia, daughter of Erastos, Myrinne, and Philomena,” Athena said. Her gaze was unwavering like the frozen water Orithia had only seen once and just as void of emotion. “We can undo the restraints placed on your heart. We can deliver you to a place where there are women like you, hand chosen by us, and entrusted with a task of utmost importance. Is this agreeable to you?” 

Proud, numb Orithia could only manage a meek nod, clutching tightly to the sword Ares' had gifted her ten years prior.

“It will be the closest to paradise you will ever reach,” Athena continued. “Erastos was my treasured follower and his wife and her partner were cherished by Aphrodite. Your sword drank of their blood without respect, mercy, or shame. This crime will be branded on your soul and you will be forbidden to seek happiness in Elysian. These are our terms, Orithia once Asherah. Do you accept them?” 

Orithia bowed her head. She loosened her fingers and the tainted blade of Ares slipped from her grasp and fell to the mud below where it was immediately swallowed by the earth, unretrievable by any mortal.

“I accept the terms offered by the War Lady's benevolent grace.” 

“Wisdom,” Athena corrected her. “My primary focus has shifted from war and my designation shifts with it.” 

She offered her hand and held her gaze with eyes now softer with compromise. Orithia slipped her hand in Athena's and bowed, touching her forehead to her knuckles. 

“My Lady Wisdom, I am in your debt.”

-

**Gotham, 2026 as told in 2031  
The time of Kate and Diana**

Diana tells her daughter how she and her mom had spent nearly two years thinking about her name. It was serious business, she tells her. It wasn't like picking out a cactus in a shop and plucking the first funny little name that popped in Kate's mind. This would be a little baby who would grow to think and feel and have opinions and who would be able to voice those opinions. 

Like being named after a stupid plant, Oscar says. Is that why mom calls me 'beansprout?' Curious minds want to know. No, she calls you that because you looked like a little bean the first time we saw a picture of you, when you were still in my belly. Diana shushes her now and continues the story. 

They thought they had three-fourths of a year to find a name they both liked, Diana says. Of course, eight months passed faster than they knew and they were running out of time.

They had just stepped off the elevator onto their floor, strolling leisurely at a pace that was comfortable for Diana. Pregnancy had suited her and she took to it like it was second nature, morning sickness and swollen feet included. It was the feeling of awe these last few months instilled in her, playing so intimate a role in the wonder of life. Creating, instead of saving, she thought, a unique feeling. This, however, did not mean that she wanted to do it again. Next time, it's Kate's turn. 

“What about Iola?” Kate asked, scrolling through lists of names on her phone as they walked.

Diana's eyes narrowed with quick consideration and then dismissal. She shook her head and said, “She kicks too fiercely for a name so delicate.” 

“That's my girl.” 

The grin Kate let out was nothing short of proud and Diana gave her shoulder a playful slap with the back of her hand, shooting her a look, when she glanced her way. It only made Kate's grin widen and she returned to her phone. 

“Okay, then. Phaedra.” Kate offered, locking her phone and slipping it into her pocket. She bent her elbow when Diana took hold of it again. 

“You're sure you want a Greek name?” Diana asked. “I thought we were both fond of Elizabeth, after your sister.” 

Kate keyed in their passcode and held the door open for her. She shrugged and said, “I am. I like it a lot, but she's going to be a princess of Themyscira and what kind of amazon name is Elizabeth?” 

“The same kind of amazon name that is Katherine. A new kind for a new generation,” Diana said as she walked through the door, beginning to remove the light cardigan she wore. “Speaking of which, have you thought a little more about what we talked about?”

Kate was soon behind her, gently slipping it from her shoulders and draping it on her arm. She lay a kiss to her shoulder and placed a hand to her swollen belly affectionately before stepping around her. 

“She's not even born yet, let alone old enough to start thinking about where she'll spend her summers,” Kate said as she made her way down the entryway to the living room, looking back over her shoulder at her as she walked and then disappeared around the corner to the kitchen that lay on the other side of the wall.

“I agree it feels premature,” Diana said, following her after her. “Philippus is methodical, however, and wants to –.” 

Diana rounded the corner and stopped short when she nearly bumped into Kate's back. Immediately, Kate held out an arm to keep her behind her but not before Diana saw the two unannounced visitors in their kitchen. This is the part of the story that Diana skims the details for Oscar's benefit. She didn't need to know that seated at their kitchen table with her legs comfortably crossed was Checkmate agent Cameron Chase. She didn't need to know that the amazon who stood behind her was Alkyone, the former captain of Themyscira's guard ousted from the island when Diana was still just an infant. She doesn't even need to know that the sight of either was unusual, but together was almost preposterous. 

There were two strangers in our home, she tells Oscar. A warrior who had her spear pointed at me and a soldier who had a gun pointed at your mom. It was not accurate, but her daughter didn't need to know. What did you do? Little Oscar wants to know. What did mom do? Diana hushes her daughter once more and then confirms her suspicions. Yes, my love, we did fight. Then she dashes her anticipation and says, but only after I sat down at the table to talk. 

“Go back down to the first floor, Diana,” Kate had said evenly, settling her eyes on Chase.

“She won't make it,” Chase said, calmly.

She lazily pulled a Sig Sauer M18 from its holster on her thigh and casually set it on the kitchen table beside Oscar where she could grab it easily, an unspoken but clear command for Diana to stay. Diana wouldn't have listened anyway. Alkyone's very presence would have kept her there. 

“Have a seat, princess,” Chase said. “Let's talk.” 

A definite click of the M18's safety resonates in the kitchen and all eyes are on Chase as she trained the barrel of her weapon on Kate. All pretense in her demeanor was gone now. Slowly, she moved the end of her weapon to Diana's belly as well.

Diana fixed her gaze on Chase, searching her face for any crack in the veneer, any sign of her private thought. All she saw was duty and a determination to carry out that duty. It reminded her too much of how Maxwell Lord had looked, illuminated by the golden glow of the Perfect roped around him. She patted Kate's shoulder and then moved her arm out of the way. 

“Diana, don't,” Kate started, but Diana brought her palm to Kate's cheek and shook her head. Kate swallowed the protest, but made it clear how much she disapproved. 

She took confident but careful steps into her kitchen and passed Alkyone who could barely contain her cold judgment. Kate eyed her harshly and came to Diana's aid, pulling out the chair and helping her take a seat. 

Kate moved to help her, keeping eyes on their guests as she guided Diana along. Both the point of Alkyone's blade and the barrel of Chase's gun followed them as Diana pulled the chair from beneath the table and sat down. 

Little Oscar is insistent there was no way these strangers just wanted to talk. They were probably burglars, robbers, maybe they were one of Joker's guys or Riddler's. She's getting lost, imaging up ways to make real life more interesting to her seven year old brain. Diana lets her muse aloud because she's too young to know yet what Cameron Chase actually said. 

“I'll get to the point,” Chase said when she was settled. “The Bana want your kid dead.”

“How the hell do you know about the Bana?” Kate threw out a hand in frustration, stopping to glare at Alkyone who pointed her blade at her throat in caution. 

“Of course we know about the Bana. Now, shut up and listen.” Chase leveled her with a look and said, “The new cold war is with the Bana, Kate Kane, and they'll use any excuse to turn that cold red hot. The world only knows about one barbarian women culture. Who do you think gets the blame if the Bana attack?”

Behind her, Alkyone set her jaw and her eyes flicked from Kate to Diana and then back again while Chase continued speaking. Clearly, she had her own thoughts on this whole situation.

“That kid in your wife is half-amazon. Half _theirs_. Better yet, she'll have claim to the Themysciran throne. How much are you willing to risk your kid's not important to them?” 

“For fuck's sake, Chase. This is my kid.” Kate slammed a fist on the table so hard it rattled Oscar's pot. He shimmied over the table a few inches closer to Chase's elevated hand still holding the pistol, nearly right below it. 

“Yeah, it is your kid,” Chase shot back. “So why is your wife the only one who seems to understand why we're here?”

Diana could feel the anger seething in Kate. It crept through the bond like flowing magma, threatening to sway her emotions as well and she shot a plea of calm back toward her. When Kate's fist loosened some, Diana looked at the wrinkles of the fabric bunching at the base of Oscar's pot. 

You are right, little dove, Diana tells her daughter now. Not much talking was accomplished after I sat at the table. Do you know what the soldier's first mistake was? 

What? What was it? What'd she do? Little Oscar is impatient for the story to hurry along. She's already forgotten this was a story about how she came to be named. She's caught in the whirlwind of dangerous strangers with guns and how her mothers survived this harrowing encounter. Diana tells her the soldier's first mistake was relaxing when Kate's fist loosened. She'd set her elbow on the kitchen table and placed her chin in her hand. She skips the dialogue, even though she can still hear Chase's voice so clearly in her head. So what did you do, her daughter asks of her. How did you get out of it? 

Diana sighs and tells her daughter that she used her mom. She used her anger.

“Do me a favor and bring your wife up to speed,” Chase had said, almost lazily now, over confident. Even her trigger finger relaxed, stretching once more and resting against the polymer casing of the Sauer. Her last mistake, Diana stresses to her daughter.

Diana took in her environment and glanced at Alkyone, whose attention was squarely on Kate. Because of her out burst, she'd come to stand behind Chase's chair, knees bent, blade held horizontal above her head, over half the table and poised to strike if Kate dared to move a millimeter in Chase's direction. 

Diana eased herself forward with slow, precise movements designed not to alarm either woman across the table. She rested her forearms on the table and intertwined her fingers, coming to rest them just beside Oscar's clay pot. The white mesh and pastel ribbons wound around his pot and tied in a garish bow almost made the corners of her lips lift in a sad smile. A small crown of dried clover blossoms rested unevenly along the needles atop what would be his head. 

Finally, Diana let out a small sigh and brought her gaze down to her hands, to the space between her fingers and Oscar's pot. 

“They're here to recruit, Kate.”

“What?” 

Diana could hear the surprise in Kate's stunned voice and almost winced when Chase indicated Diana's belly with a quick irresponsible pointing with the barrel of her weapon. She intervened before she could soften the blow of the clarification. Diana's hands clenched. 

“Funny way of phrasing that. I would have said something like 'safekeeping',” Chase said. She indicated Alkyone behind her. “Look, I've even got one of your people to train her up right. She'll still be amazon.” 

The words barely left Chase's mouth before Kate, seething with anger that rippled violently through the bond between them, lunged around Diana's chair to grab Chase's throat. Alkyone's blade angles to intercept her. Diana moved. With swift movements and precision honed in her muscles by Philippus' exacting demands, her hand wrapped around Oscar's pot.

She tossed him up at an angle toward Alkyone, a distraction to block Alkyone's sight locked on Kate long enough for her aim to falter. Before Alkyone could redirect her weapon to knock Oscar away, Diana caught her blade with the gold of her hand guard, knocking it back violently. The sudden movement knocked her against Chase, toppling her and the chair. Oscar met his mark. His needles dug deep in the flesh of Alkyone's face. Kate spun as she fell to yank Diana from her chair out of the way of the bullet when Chase's weapon discharged. The bullet lodged itself in the ceiling in the corner and they landed hard on the tile. 

Alkyone screamed. Before Oscar could fall, she ripped him away from her face with her free hand and slammed him against the kitchen table. His pot shattered. The table split down the middle and crumbled beneath her rage. Alkyone's heavy tactical boot came down mercilessly and stomped him, smearing the rubber sole on the tile, mixing cactus juice with soil, and making a thin mud the color of blood soaked earth. Diana froze. Chase immediately dropped to the floor

“Get down, you idiot!” She'd shouted, but it was too late. 

A volley of gunfire ripped into the apartment, ripping into the walls, and shattering glassware in the cupboards. Kate pulled Diana down and covered her, shielding her head with her arms, and sliding between her and kitchen window where the bullets rip. The gunfire lasted several long minutes and when it finished and they could finally look, Alkyone was dead and Cameron Chase was nowhere to be seen. 

That's it? That's all? Little Oscar asks. You never saw the soldier again? Diana chuckles softly and tells her daughter, no, my love. We didn't. It's not exactly the truth, but that's a story for another time. Tonight the hero of the story is a cactus named Oscar. 

She tells her daughter how she spied him on the tile amidst the debris of the table. He was surrounded by shards of red clay and the crumpled mesh bow, his roots exposed, his soil scattered dark across the light tile. She was surprised by how much the sight bothered her, like a tightness in her chest, tighter than Kate's arms around her. 

It was like having my own heart gutted and something special yanked from me, Diana tells her daughter and her voice catches even now, years later. Little Oscar is perplexed at Diana's sorrow. She doesn't understand. But he was just a cactus, mother.

-

**Gotham, back in 2031  
The time of Kate and Diana**

Diana smoothes the unruly hair on her daughter's head now almost dry and gazes at her, offering her a smile. During the course of the story, she'd lain her head on Diana's lap and made herself comfortable. She chuckles at how offended her daughter seems at her mother's devastation over a plant. 

“Yes, my love. I thought that as well,” Diana says smoothly. “But I thought of him for weeks after. He was just a cactus, but he was my cactus. Your mom bought him for me when I'd forgotten who I was and how much love I could give. When I was so empty inside I could not eat one bite of food, there was a little cactus on the kitchen table who needed me to fix his hat from slipping every day. And when I thought all I had left was anger, your mom reminded me there was a little cactus back home waiting for me.”

Oscar's eyebrows furrow in thought, but she says nothing. She waits for her mother to continue. 

“Together, we put all our love in that little cactus. He was proof of it, perhaps, a reminder of everything your mom and I have overcome together and have been made stronger by. When I looked at him, I only felt love and when I lost him, all I could think of was losing that love. Then you were born,” Diana says, stroking the hair by Oscar's temple tenderly. “The first time I held you, the first time I looked at you, just like now, all that love came flooding back to me. You are not named after a cactus, Oscar Elizabeth. You are named after love.” 

Diana switches off the light and leaves Oscar to her thoughts. She doesn't know what tomorrow will be like, but she imagines the sun will dawn a little differently for her. At the very least, she will stop bragging to her friends how she was named after a great warrior. It's a small advantage, but it's still an advantage. 

She makes her way down the stairs and finds Kate on the couch reading from the poetry collection. On the coffee table beside her, Diana's mug of tea is now empty and Kate gives her a guilty grin, before closing the book in her lap.

“How'd she take it?” Kate asks when Diana slips on to the cushion beside her.

“She's processing now,” Diana says, gently taking the book from Kate's hands. “We will know more in the morning.” 

“You were up there a while.” 

Diana nods quietly and then leans into Kate, pulling her feet on the couch. She breathes in her comforting scent and closes her eyes. 

“I told her about that day in the kitchen, before she was born,” she says, snuggling a little closer. “His last day with us.” 

The muscles of Kate's throat constrict as she swallows, causing minute vibrations on Diana's cheek. She gently takes Kate's arm and draws it around her. 

“You told her about that?” Kate asks, surprised and then concerned. “All of it?” 

“She doesn't know names or small details, no. I did not tell her about Checkmate or the Bana-Mighdall.” Diana snakes her arms around Kate's waist and holds on for a moment. She feels the weight of Kate's head on hers and basks in this feeling of content, this quiet happiness. She says, “I have been thinking about something I wanted to discuss with you.” 

“Oh yeah? What's that?”

“Designation,” Diana says softly, lifting Kate's left hand. She has not removed the hand guard for the night yet, and Diana admires the intricate design, the thin plating of the knuckles. She kisses it gently. “I think it's time I did it, Kate. I asked for more time and they granted me that, but I cannot be selfish anymore. My mother needs to designate an heir and it is time I let her.” 

“Did telling the beansprout that story have anything to do with these thoughts tonight?' Kate asks, watching her play with her hand. She intertwines their fingers. 

“They are all right about her,” Diana tells her. “She will connect Themyscira with the Bana and all amazons to the rest of the world, but she has to know her people in order to do that. I must be settled in my role long before then. I must take her home, Kate.” 

“Then we take her home, Diana.” 

Kate says it quickly, easily, barely has to think of it. Her shoulders lift in a casual shrug, emphasizing how little concern this development causes her, how unconcerned she is with uprooting her life, leaving everything and everyone else behind, to follow Diana and their daughter to Themyscira. 

“You'll no longer be Batwoman,” Diana says, alarmed at her nonchalance. She wants her to consider the consequences, everything she'll be giving up. 

Diana frowns. She feels Kate pull away gently before a hand on her cheek guides her gaze up. The smile Kate gives her is encouraging, confident, just like the one she gave her when they'd stood side by side waiting to face the gods and receive their trial. 

“Remember what I said to you, when you had to officially 'present' me to the tribe?” Kate says tenderly now. She waits long enough for Diana to nod. “Nothing's changed since then. I still feel like that. We got this, Diana, you and me. Come whatever the fuck may.” 

Diana chuckles softly and says, “Come what may.”

-

**The Isle that will become Crete  
Eons before the time of Kate and Diana**

Athena saw the way Zeus appraised Pallas and, for the first time, her father's demeaning gaze revolted her. In his eye, Pallas was too short statured and lithe in body to be appreciated as an athlete and her musculature, despite her strength, was too slim and ill-defined to be viewed as a soldier of war. Athena understood clearly that for him, Pallas fell into one category only, a woman to bed but not to wed and never anything more. It bothered her.

“Her skill surpasses mine in every way,” Athena started, but Pallas touched her forearm gently to stop her.

“It is all right, Athena,” she said and stepped toward Zeus to play the role he cast on her. She touched the plated armor on his arm, examining the fine gold shield strapped to it, and offered him a smile. “It is a beautiful piece, my lord, befitting a king of gods.”

He brought her chin up with a small bump of his forefinger to force her gaze up. His eyes smoldered with liquid as he evaluated her face and Athena felt a fire blaze hot in her belly.

“It is not the only thing here befitting a king of gods,” he said, gripping her chin and tilting her head at different angles. He stepped back long enough to glance down her body to consider her as a whole. “It pleases me my motherless offspring has such fine taste in friends.”

Athena cleared her throat, leveling Zeus with a look that would have withered anyone else, and said with stiff words on a rigid tongue, “Pallas, my father has come to watch a demonstration of skill. We must ready ourselves.” 

She waited long painful moments while her father took his time completing his thorough inspection. Then he withdrew his hands and shooed her back to Athena's side with a dismissive wave. Athena's steps echoed down the cold monastery hallways, bouncing off the aging stone as she stormed away from the room with Pallas in tow. 

“He will think what he will, Athena. Let him,” Pallas called, soothing her voice to a low even pitch. “It does not offend me.” 

“It offends me.” Athena's footsteps stopped abruptly with the force of her words and she spun on her heels to face her. “To treat the daughter of a friend – my friend – in such a manner. To even look at you like that.”

“How is it he looks at me?” Pallas asked her with quiet words. “Is it the same way I look at you?”

Something akin to doleful casted shadows across her gaze. It spoke of something between them Athena had not yet identified. She recognized it now in this hallway. Sometime in this last year together, Pallas had shed the last of her adolescence. Her body had developed the pleasing curves and full breasts of a woman and the way she held herself made it clear she knew it. She was beautiful. 

Athena started to say her name but then swallowed her voice when Pallas spoke again.

“Is it the same way you look at me now?” 

It struck Athena motionless. There was a new sensuality in the way Pallas approached her with a courage she was unable to match. Pallas stepped so near, the heat of their bodies called out to each other. Raising herself on the balls of her feet, Pallas nestled her face in the crook of Athena's neck just below her chin, palms flat on her sides, and slowly slid them to the smooth planes of her back. 

“It is not a vile thing to be looked at like that,” she whispered into the soft underside of Athena's jaw. “Not if it comes from someone welcomed.”

“Dear Pallas, I could never blight you, not in the same manner he would.” Athena breathed. She let herself embrace her. “I will not become as him.”

In her arms, Pallas almost stiffened before releasing a heavy sigh that carried out the tension of her body with it as it escaped her lips. It was not the loosening that comes with feeling content. It was the undignified uncoiling that always accompanied a cruel defeat. She lowered herself back to the soles of her feet.

“You must do as you must. As your father, he has first claim on you, after all,” she said in a way that suggested she had no right to a claim of her own.

The thought unsettled a dense, palpable offense inside Athena. Pallas stepped away from the embrace and reached up to marvel at the soft tendrils of hair that escaped near Athena's jaw. Whatever ignorance was once pretended of what had grown between them was now forsaken and she made no attempt to disguise the delicate longing in her admiration.

“Beloved Athena, my precious friend,” she said, proudly. “What a War Lady you will become.”

Just like that, with kind words uttered with all she felt but never spoke, Pallas had decided for them both. They did not speak as she led them to the small gathering room that led to the open air arena where their fathers waited. Their weapons were carefully lain out on stone benches, polished to a gleam they had not seen in years. 

Pallas turned to exit first, shield and spear in hand and helmet tucked beneath an arm. 

“See you out there,” she said with a smile Athena couldn't help but return. 

“I will join you shortly,” Athena said, nodding, before adding, “beloved Pallas.” 

Beneath the audience of their father's, the two of them donned spears and shields and faced off in the arena. The only armor they wore with their white chitons were helmets dinted from practice beneath the polish. As their spars always began, Athena came out strong, not as swift on her feet, but she was faster with her weapon to counter. The sharpened tip of her spear glanced off the curved sides of Pallas' shield, held at an angle too perfect to not admire. 

This princess of the sea, daughter of Triton, this beloved woman at whose side she'd spent her adolescence, Athena's Pallas of the Seas, flashed her a smile from beneath her helmet, hiding it from view of their fathers behind her bronze shield. Athena could not help but lower her guard, draw back her spear, and lift her shield between herself and the stands. She smiled back and the two of them shared an intimacy in this private moment forged for them alone.

It caused a surge of feeling inside Athena, a frisson fueled by something more profound than adrenaline. Athena was gripped by a fervor so fierce, it engulfed her. She suddenly yearned to share it with Pallas, but it was too beautiful to confine into words. Athena moved and felt and conveyed her feelings this way instead. Pallas locked their gazes and responded ten fold.

It no longer mattered who was winning and who was losing. This was no longer a duel. This was passion translated into movement, an intimate conversation of physical affection cleverly disguised.

From the corner of her eye, Athena saw a glint of gold and squinted. She saw how Pallas shielded her eyes and looked toward the stands where the shimmer had come. It was too late to draw back her spear. Pallas didn't see it coming. Athena's spear met flesh and pushed through. She froze. Pallas went stiff. Her weapon clattered to the ground and she glanced down at the spear in her side and then at Athena. She winced out a weak smile. 

The warmth of blood running down the wood from the wound ran over her fingers. She scrambled to her feet. No, no. Pallas was pulling at the spear, trying to ease it from her side, but the action only made the bleeding worse.

“Gaea's grace, Pallas, leave it or you will bleed out,” Athena said, throwing off her helmet and rushing to her side. She placed her hand on her to stop her movement. She shouted at some servants, waved them into action to retrieve the medics. 

“Very well, then,” Pallas said and dropped her hands.

She leaned into Athena, resting her forehead against her shoulder like all her energy was seeping out with her blood. Her breath hitched with a hiss and she sucked in air. Athena removed the helmet and let it drop to the dirt below and then eased her to the ground. She cradled her in lap. 

It unnerved her how unconcerned Pallas seemed, head on her lap, gazing up at her, as if they were back on the dry grass, listening to a hymn of olive trees. As if there was no other place she would choose to be, no other thing she would rather be doing, then be right here on Athena's lap, bleeding out. 

“Let us pretend you said it first and I am merely saying it in return,” she said and her voice was so quiet, so weak.

“Saying what in return?” 

Pallas reached up a hand and Athena felt the blood on her fingertips smear on her cheek when she touched her. 

“How beautiful you are, Athena,” she said and smiled, “daughter of Zeus and loved by Triton's Pallas.”

By the time the physician made it, fleet Hermes had already come and gone and Athena was calmly transferring Pallas' body into Triton's arms. She rose to her feet carefully and brought her eyes up to the stands where Zeus still sat, oddly proud and without shame. The golden shield Pallas had admired rested on the floor and leaned against his knee. He drew himself up straighter and the movement made the shield catch the light of the torch above him and shimmer only just. 

She bowed her head and said, “The demonstration of skill is done. This completes my training. Does my lord father, Zeus, grant me permission to return to Olympus?” 

“It is granted.”

She nodded and thanked him and then turned on her heel to leave.

“There are plenty other skilled beauties like that one, Athena,” Zeus called after her. “You will soon find another to warm your bed.”

She stopped for only a moment, her back still to him, and then left the arena without a word. 

-

**The island of Themyscira, circa 1149 BCE  
Long before the time of Kate and Diana**

These Themysciran amazons were not like the ones she had traveled with. They were somehow purer, more Greek in their nature and carried less exotic flare. There was something softer about the Themyscirans, blunted perhaps around the edges. When they spoke of men and the world outside, they did so with judgement that lacked the sharp contempt of the Bana.

Orithia made mention of the Bana once and the next day the queen, Hippolyta, sat her down on a chaise layered with soft furs and asked her many questions. Her questions were calculated and carefully measured, all except for one.

“And what of their queen,” she asked. “My blood sister, Antiope?” 

Orithia saw the question in her eyes only years of unspoken wondering could ask. She felt the beginnings of sympathy flutter in her heart and the brief infant feeling made her eyes tear with bitter joy the queen must have mistaken. She placed a hand on Orithia's and gently squeezed.

“Is the news so bad?” 

“Forgive me. The news is bad and the right to tears is yours, not mine,” Orithia said, wiping her eyes. She noticed how Hippolyta waited until she was ready, still covering Orithia's hand with her own. “The band of Bana I met were traveling to avenge their queen, but I did not care enough then to know if they were successful.”

“You seem to care right now.” 

“I am a different person now.”

Hippolyta studied her as she considered her words and then withdrew her hand. She sat back in her seat and gave a slow, meticulous nod. Her demeanor was one of devastating grace and collected calm, even in the face of her sister's murder. She offered Orithia the first genuine smile she had ever received since coming. 

“Thank you for your time today, sister,” she said, “and for your warm compassion.” 

Sister, the queen had called her. Citizen. Amazon. Just like that, Orithia was one of them. 

“But what of the rite, your majesty?” she asked. “The tribe has not yet determined my worth.” 

Hippolyta laughed.

“Our wayward sisters trusted their lives and their mission to the skill of your blade and invited you to their home,” she said. “Orithia, sister, you already were an amazon long before you came here.” 

If she had not known it yet, Orithia knew now that her mangled heart was finally free for it struggled in its handicap to contain the wealth of feeling that overflowed from it. It had been so long since she was able to feel something, anything, that was not the utter despair that gripped her on the field of battle. It had been so long since she was visited by a memory of fondness regarding her patch-work Greek family.

Now, finally, Orithia bowed her head before a worthy sovereign a venerated warrior like her father before her.

-

Knowledge of her ties with the Bana amazons spread quickly and the change in the Themysciran's was sudden and drastic. She became popular and her time and attention often sought after. Soon there were more suitors pursuing her than was reasonable. The interest was flattering, but the attention was exhausting. 

She found a safe space at Io's forge, naturally gravitating toward a trade that involved shaping raw material with fire. Under Io's guidance, she learned how to temper and forge steel. There was something about the trade alley of Themyscira that kept her suitors in check. Or perhaps it was the stoic combination of the blacksmith Io and the metalworker, Anaea. They suffered no distractions when the fires were hot and demanded that respect from others.

The first year, Orithia, assaulted by her fledgling feelings, had a series of casual lovers, never lasting longer than a few months. They were never intended to be serious, just shallow thrills for the sake of experiencing shallow thrills. It was toward the end of that year she first caught Anaea looking at her. It was not a look of want or curiosity and she wasn't sure how to take it. Her second year, she had only two lovers. One who lasted a few mere weeks and the other almost made it the full year until one evening she'd stood on the stage of the amphitheater and called Orithia's name. Orithia sat motionless in her seat, nearly frozen, and didn't dare move until the stage was emptied and a different face with a different voice recited a different name.

She breathed out a sigh beneath her breath and felt her shoulders relax before the flare of irritation puffed warm in her chest.

“Honestly,” she said to herself. “We barely speak outside of the bed and that is the kind of eternity you want?”

Behind her, a low chuckle caught her ears and she glanced over her shoulder to see Anaea looking at her with a soft amused smile. 

“Tereis is a woman of simple pleasures and requires little to be happy.” 

It was the first thing Anaea had ever said to her voluntarily and her slight smile and breathy laugh did something to Orithia. She blushed and apologized.

“No need to,” Anaea told her. “I quite enjoyed it.”

By the third year, Io had noticed Orithia's skill at fine detail and composition. She had a keen sense of balance, not only for the practicality of a tool, but also for the visual impact of a design. She set her up to work with Anaea who crafted ornamental hilts and scabbards as well as fine jewelry. Before long, she handled all the filigree, etching, and stone settings for Anaea's designs.

Orithia and Anaea had worked side by side in near silence day in and day out, but the more she caught Anaea's unreadable gaze, the more she found herself looking back. She reminded her of Erastos, the calm unhurried way she approached her craft, the level of diligence she gave each layer of each piece, and the manner in which she studied it often from all angles before moving forward. 

In the following five years, Orithia's name was called three times. In the next five, it was called once. She did not respond to any of them. Anaea had remained her quiet business partner, leaving her to manage both her work and her suitors as she saw fit.

-

“It was a beautiful pair of guards you crafted for Clete and Euryleia,” Orithia said to her on Demeter's Day, offering her a cup of wine as she joined her beneath a large tree on the peripheral of the festival. “The designs captured their spirits well.” 

Anaea considered the wine for a moment, glanced up at Orithia, and then accepted the offer, bringing the cup to her lips. She settled back against the tree and continued observing the festivities. Her voice was so low, Orithia almost didn't hear her. 

“They are spirits that are easy to capture.”

“What was that wonderful bird on Clete's?” Orithia asked, settling beside her against the tree without asking. The action surprised Anaea, but she made no attempt to move. “I have never seen one before.”

“A peacock, the male,” Anaea said. “They are known for preening and grandstanding.”

Orithia laughed, tapped her cup to hers, and said, “The very essence of Clete then. My compliment still stands, but with more admiration.”

The smallest smile touched Anaea's lips and she hid it behind her raised cup, but it tickled Orithia to witness it. It seemed stoic and serious Anaea, who barely spoke to her even when they spend ten hours a day beside each other, amused herself with private jokes hidden in her work. Orithia felt something slip just so inside her and fall just a little in Anaea's presence. She looked away and busied herself with her cup.

“Had you thought a lot on this?” she asked, tucking her free hand between her back and the tree. “The nature of birds and sisters?” 

“Yes. You are a sparrow,” Anaea said, skipping half of the conversation to answer the thought that lay unspoken at the back of Orithia's mind. She shifted her eyes sideways to look at her.

Orithia blushed. She tucked hair behind an ear and crossed one ankle over the other, shifting her weight to one leg. She rested her free hand at the small of her back and lifted her head, trying to recover. 

“What makes me a sparrow then?” 

Anaea was quiet for a moment longer than others would be comfortable with, but Orithia didn't mind. The years working side by side for long stretches of silence made it clear to them both that they shared an affinity for quiet. Just her calm presence was enough to ground Orithia in this moment, appreciating the island and the company and this new life she still didn't feel she'd done anything to earn.

“Your name is recited often because everyone wants to keep you,” Anaea said, finally. “They mistake you for the songbird you appear to be.”

“You think of me differently?” 

Anaea turned her head and held her gaze. She said, “You have been someone's caged bird before, but never again.”

Orithia felt the bruises of her heart swell painfully, but she could not look away and she had no words to utter. She felt dangerously outside the capacity of her still developing emotions. Her bottom lip nearly quivered when Anaea stood from the tree and then leaned down to kiss her. It was the first kiss Orithia could remember ever wanting so much.

They studied each other for a long silence and then settled back against the tree side by side. Orithia held her cup in both hands and found herself gazing at her darkened reflection on the surface of the wine, flickering faintly with the firelight.

“You've waited quite a length of time to do that,” she said, but her voice was soft.

“You were never available before.”

Orithia looked up at her.

“I am available now.”

That evening when Anaea walked her home, Orithia held her door open just enough to make the unspoken invitation clear. She rested her hand on the other side of the doorframe, though, blocking the way lightly with a languid arm. 

“Don't fall in love with me, Anaea,” she said. 

An entire conversation happened in the few seconds of silence that passed between. Anaea remained unfazed by this one condition and how ridiculous it was. She stepped closer until Orithia had to tilt her head to look at her. Then, without so much as a word spoken, she gently placed a hand on the delicate bend of the slender elbow that blocked the door and lifted the arm out of her way. They watched each other as she stepped passed over the threshold and into Orithia's home. With the elbow she still held, Anaea drew her inside with her. 

That night, Anaea called her Thia Sparrow between breathy whispers and heated kisses. Orithia's hand left fire in the wake of every touch. She gripped her closer and moved her body with hers. It was unbearably flattering to be on the receiving end of Anaea's sharpened focus, to feel the precise way the movement of her fingers and her lips mapped the contours of her body. It was exactly how Orithia had imagined this would feel like with her and Orithia knew she was in danger of breaking her own condition. 

Orithia told Anaea about her debt to Athena and being barred from paradise, that she would never ask anyone to weather alone trial meant for two. She stressed that she was content, grateful even, humbled to even have this time with her on this island with her feelings in tact, because these feelings for Anaea were wonderful and more than she deserved. 

Anaea only listened and nodded her head.

“I have a quartz for you,” she said, solemnly. “If, one day, you accept my stone, Orithia, you have my word. I will bring you to paradise.”

A flash of hurt speared Orithia, but she had smiled, touched her cheek, and said, “How surprised our sisters would be to know how loving and adorable you can be. Like an earth-colored pipit that sings a sweet song and wiggles its tail.”

This is one of the few times she has ever seen Anaea blush. Orithia laughed softly and kissed her.

It took Anaea decades of fastidious resolve and consistency regarding her claim. They watched the queen and their general finish the last decade of their centuries long trial and greeted them with the rest of their sisters when they emerged a bonded pair. Anaea had focused on their two figures standing with joined hands. Something in Orithia wriggled impatiently and she hastily ended things between them. They welcomed a little princess and witnessed their queen defeat a valkyrie who looked at her with only hate in her eyes and they rekindled what still existed between them. Then that little princess who'd caused such a ruckus her first few years of life was suddenly her own person, old enough to yearn for what the island could not give her, and capable enough to leave to pursue it. 

All the while, Anaea measured hands and took special notes for customization and Orithia placed quartz stones in their settings on hand guards for sisters who'd been bonded. When Diana came to ask after her own request, Anaea's steadfast patience finally broke Orithia. 

“Do you still have the quartz stone you told me of so long ago?” she asked Anaea one night while she lay in her arms attempting sleep. 

“I will always have it.” 

Orithia snuggled closer to her. 

“And you will not come to resent me if the trial you bear alone becomes too much?” 

Sure fingers threaded her hair in the dark in time with the quiet rhythm of their breathing. 

“I could never resent you. Of that, at least, I am certain.”

Orithia hid her face in Anaea's shoulder and finally told her she wanted to be bonded.

-

**What is left of Olympus  
Long after the time of Kate and Diana**

The remains of Olympus are crumbling. The home they had spent countless millennia had not survived the onslaught of these new gods. Athena had known it wouldn't. While Ares faulted her for not putting her focus on war strategies and battle tactics, she had been devising a method of escape. Even now, however, while it stands ready to be deployed and their timeframe of safe departure hurtling quickly towards them, Athena refuses to launch. Though Athena never says it, Aphrodite is the only one who knows why. It is because the cup Pallas drank from still sits capped and full on Athena's mantel, but not for much longer. 

“I assume this purchases us all safe passage,” Hades says as they stand before the well of souls, watching the crystals of each soul swirl in a sparkle of light as a single one is located and isolated. “And I mean all of us, Athena.” 

“Yes, of course,” she says with a nod, but her concern is no longer sided with him. “Fifty of your favorite subjects, Hades, and no more. We will take them with us.” 

He gives a short imperceptible bow of his head and says, “Then I leave you to it.” 

When she is alone, she works quickly. For this moment, Athena had sequestered the last of the sea foam around Crete before the island sank away. She brings forth the body from it, as she and her sister goddesses once brought back the amazons, as Aphrodite once stepped out of ancient foam. A lifeless, soulless body identical to the one in her memory, but absent what endeared her to it.

Then with fingers that have not trembled as they do now in countless years, she beckons the soul. In her hands is all that she holds dear, contained inside a vessel that was once used to play a dirty trick. She uncaps the cup and returns what she'd so cruelly taken so long ago, and then watches the beautiful shimmer of the soul as it absorbs that missing part of itself and remembers. Then she guides it to the body that awaits it. 

Athena waits only until she sees the flash of recognition in Pallas’ eyes before she reaches over and palms her cheek. The intimate touch is rewarded with a smile that makes her heart ache. She does what she has wanted to do since the day Pallas made her sit still on the dry grass beside her and listen to the hymn of olive trees. She leans forward to kiss her.

There are more eons of love in this single kiss than Athena can convey in words. Every moment she thought of her, every time she missed her, every ache her heart felt for her, and every 'I love you' that went unspoken, Athena tells Pallas now through this kiss. Pallas melts against her. She is bereft of any questions she may have had and snakes her arms around her. She had reluctantly held a thin shield of propriety out of respect for Athena's disgust at the face of all things carnal. The shield now vanishes and she presses against Athena and finally demands of her what she will. She takes what Athena now readily gives.

“I have wanted you since we were girls playing war,” she says as she draws away now, slightly bewildered, but terribly excited. “But I must not get too excited. The context for this meeting eludes me and I feel strangely different. Warm. What has happened?”

Athena allows herself a second to breathe in the nostalgic scent of her, sea salt, sage, and olive branches. She threads her fingers through her dark hair and tenderly strokes the sun-kissed skin of her cheek with her thumb. 

“I have been waiting a long time for the day you return to me,” she tells her. 

Pallas studies her for a quiet moment, letting her fingertips touch lightly at telltale signs she sees on Athena’s face, her eyes, her brow, her beautiful straight nose, the fine corners of her shapely lips. Athena can see her piecing clues together. Pallas frowns.

“It has been less than a second for me since our lovely walk to the Meadows,” she says, palming her cheek. “How long has it been for you, Athena?”

Athena captures her fingers in her own and turns her head inward toward the smooth, warm palm, closing her eyes at just the touch.

“A million lifetimes and more,” she says. “From the moment I took your memories of this world still young to now in its old age where it is in steady decline.”

She can see Pallas’ thoughts in her sea foam eyes, processing as quickly as she is able. The smile she gives now is more melancholic than pleased.

“And here I thought, once I had decided, that all the waiting until you were ready for me would be reserved for me alone,” she says quietly. “How unfair you are, my War Lady. At least my decision was with you in mind.”

Despite the gentle quality of her voice, Athena can hear the disapproval and the hurt. There is still love, but there is not yet forgiveness. She knows she had hurt her, but she also knows she would do it again, and no manner of apology will lesson the pain of that truth, so she offers none.

“This last decision I leave to you, dear Pallas, who was always far kinder to me than I deserved. I ask of you one more kindness,” she says and Athena knows fear again for the first time in ages. “We Olympians are preparing to leave this world. Come with us.”

She wants more time than they have left here, time enough to feel aptly rewarded for lifetimes of patience. Imagine the Lady Wisdom seeking a reward for good behavior.

Pallas is silent for a long painful moment. She takes Athena’s hand in her own, nearly marveling at her long fingers, the clean, attractive ridge of her knuckles. She straightens her fingers and sandwiches the hand snug between her own, admiring from different angles. It is as if she exaggerates the time she takes to consider, to even acknowledge the request.

There is still the matter of her pride, badly bruised when Athena had ignored her wishes and stripped her of her memories without her consent, the one precious thing that was still undeniably hers she was able to take with her to the Meadows. Athena rephrases her request.

“Come with me, Pallas. I shall not let you go again.”

Pallas releases her hand and slides her fingers in Athena’s hair, starting at her temple and raking along her scalp. She draws her down for another kiss, the kind she has always wished to give her, something possessive and indelicate, indecent almost in its savage want. She is the perfect height to tuck her nose just beneath Athena’s chin and breathe her in. For a minute, all she does is hold on to her.

“I cannot, Athena, not yet,” she says with words warm and moist against her neck. “Such a plea to co-quest is one reserved for lovers and I am no one's lover.”

A flame lights in Athena's eye and she draws away to look at her. The heat of her gaze is sweltering. Her lips scrape against hers. She has to steady Pallas on her feet when she says, “You will be mine.”

Without another word exchanged, she takes hold of Pallas' hand and leads her from the chamber. Olympus is in ruins, but it has not fallen yet. The Olympians have lost their believers, but they are not forgotten yet. It will not happen this night. Athena leads Pallas to her bed chamber where she offers her tender apologies breathed upon the expanse of her soft skin and are sealed to her being with a searing swipe of her hot tongue. 

A millennia and more Athena waited. Just one millennia is all she asks. She will take every last moment they have left on this world convincing Pallas to let them have that. And if she fails, then let it be enough she is able to offer her one more night of precious memories.

On this night, Athena proves herself a daughter of Zeus. Pallas shatters beneath her. Her new body, entirely broken and made comfortable, shudders and still Athena does not stop until she has drawn out everything Pallas has inside to give, especially the answer to her request she desperately wants to hear. She smoothes back the sweat matted hair and offers back everything she took, repackaged by her passion in just a few deceptively simple words.

“Beloved Pallas, how much I love you.”

-

**The isle of Themyscira, circa 2019  
During the time of Kate and Diana**

There is something different to how she sees life now. There is a feeling of connectedness, not only to Kate, but also to all those around her. Because her love no longer exists within herself and floats freely around her, Diana can almost feel it condense around a person, a place, an item of import. How curious she no longer contains the emotion inside, but still feels so full of it. Perhaps it's because she has simply run out of room.

She sits now in quiet anticipation while her mothers and a few attendants fuss about around her. She and Kate have been separated for a good portion of this day, but she can still her as if she were right next to her. A tug on the bond is a clear summons, sometimes commanding and sometimes requesting, but they have learned that there are other sensations. A soft caress can feel like a warm hand on a knee, a palm on the small of the back. A pinch can feel like a reassuring hand squeeze. There is a new way to view the concepts of alone and lonely. Loneliness, however, no longer exists.

It is Philippus who takes a seat beside her, gives her a sidelong glance, and then says, “Are you nervous, Diana?” 

“Not so much nervous, Philippus, than simply caught in the suspense of uncertainty,” Diana says. “How much will this change everything? What will she do? What will you do, Philippus? There is so much life to be lived left for you both.” 

With a grave nod, Philippus nods her head and says, “It's true that there is no precedence for this. There has never been a need. Even when your mother left and delegated me in her stead, it was not like this.” 

“Then why must it be like this?” Diana asks. “I have bonded with a partner. That is all.”

The look Philippus gives her is one so full of pride and love, it nearly makes her heart seize. It's been some time since she has seen such an expression on Philippus' face. The palm of the hand that reaches for her is warm and dry, every bit as strong as it is in Diana's childhood memories. 

“You are your mother's daughter, Diana, and today, you present your consort to our people. Even she cannot shelter you from what that means,” she says with soothing words as soft as the palm on her cheek. 

“I haven't spoken to Kate about it. I haven't prepared for it.” Diana sighs and bows her head. “I need more time.” 

Philippus chuckles and smoothes a hand over the crown of her head, taking care not to mess up the intricate weaving of hair. Diana assumes she has called for her mother through the bond they share because Hippolyta is soon beside them. She knows the feel of her mother's hands like she knows no other's and takes comfort in them when they are placed over her own and Hippolyta lowers herself to a knee before her. She looks at Philippus first for an explanation.

“She wishes to only present Kate,” Philippus tells her. 

Hippolyta's eyes come to rest on her daughter's face and she reaches up to twist a stray lock of hair that has fallen near her eye and secures it with one of the small, ornamental hair pins that shine light against her dark tresses. She admires how just these small accents elevate Diana's loveliness. Sleek, understated elegance has always been more striking on her than opulence. There is something in the earnest, seeking way her daughter looks at her now that makes her seem so young, like the naive, unknowing young woman who first left these shores. For this moment, they are transported back in time when Diana still looked to her for knowledge and guidance. 

“I am not ready to be designated, mother,” Diana says, gripping Hippolyta's hand. “What will become of you and Philippus if I am?” 

“You speak as though we will be cast out into patriarch's world the minute you are named.” Hippolyta laughs softly and squeezes her hand. “Diana, my love, I am not ready to relinquish my title just yet, but Themyscira must know it has a future with someone who will guide it through change to get there.” 

“Must the future be so soon?” Diana asks her. 

“Not as soon as you think. Designation is only to announce intention, Diana.” Philippus assures her, giving her back long soothing strokes of her palm. “We have spoken at great length on this. Our people cannot continue as we are. We must be part of the world abroad. Your mother was the one who led us out of the world to this island and your mother must be the one to lead us back to the world. That will take time and time is one of the things we sacrifice for this decision.” 

Diana looks at her puzzled. It's not the first time she's heard them talk about opening Themyscira and reaching out to the world beyond. She knows this to be one of biggest debates that polarizes their people. They had fled the world for a reason and memories are long and grudges deep. Even though no soul outside this island that held them ill-will no longer live, the Themysciran's still do. They have not aged for a few thousand years. Time exists differently on this island. Diana's thoughts pause and then she looks from her mother to Philippus and back again.

“You will have to drop the veil around the island,” she says, almost shocked. “You will all – we will all – be as mortal as the rest of the world.” 

“Themyscira needs an heir, Diana, whether she is my heir or yours.” Hippolyta caresses her daughter's cheek, knowing the other option may be the harder one still. She says, “Present Kate today. Then speak with her and let us know.” 

Diana nods and bows her head. “Yes, your majesty, my queen mothers. I understand.” 

Her mothers embrace her now and it is a moment of gravity, full of a shared responsibility. She doesn't ask of the logistics of their plan, of the solutions to their unique population problem the rest of the world does not have. Those decisions are for another day. Right now, all they need from her is to know that time will now be felt for them as it has not been felt in a long while and that she must make her choices accordingly. 

They lead her to the doorway that leads to the top flight of steps that branch right of the grand staircase in the palace. Across the way, in the other door way that rests atop the steps that branch left, Diana can see Jacob in dressed uniform with Catherine on his arm. They exit the doorway the same time as Hippolyta and Philippus and descend the stops to meet on the middle landing where they exchange small pleasantries, before turning to face the entire tribe gathered at the base of the steps.

Diana catches sight of Kate in the doorway. She is dressed in a similar gown of white and small white flowers have been pinned to her hair. She is gorgeous. Kate smiles at her across the way and doesn't hide her admiration. Behind the door where no one can see her, she points a finger at Diana, flashes an OK sign and a cocky thumbs up with a wink. A shiver passes through the bond between them that she knows means Kate approves. Diana laughs and sends a shiver back.

They both descend their small flight of steps when prompted. She can't take her eyes off Kate. Her smile is dazzling. 

When they meet on the landing, Kate reaches up and brushes her knuckles across her cheek unexpectedly. She says, “A little late for tears, bat charmer. You can't get out of this now.” 

Surprised, Diana brushes her own fingertips beneath her eyes and then chuckles softly when she notices the sheen in Kate's eyes. 

“I should say the same to you,” Diana tells her. “Everything changes now.” 

Kate only grins. 

“Let it,” she says. “Let whatever may come at us, come at us. You and me, Diana? We're good together. We got this.”

Diana takes her left hand and kisses her armored knuckles as she did years ago once in the hallway outside the door of her apartment before it was theirs, holding her gaze as she does. Kate's cheeks turn rosy as she did then, but Diana knows it's from a rush of love rather from embarrassment because she feels it run through her too. 

“My brave heart,” she says, cradling her hand and her silver guard as she turns it over flat to rest to on her upturned right hand. “You never did let me know if I was successful.” 

“Successful at what?” Kate looks at her curiously. 

“Wooing you.” 

Kate really flushes now. 

“Oh, shut up, you damned bat charming amazon.”

Diana laughs then steps half behind her, placing her gold armored hand over Kate's silver and turning to face the amazons of Themyscira, her people, and now, Kate's people as well. She presents their armored hands. A few steps below are their parents, pride on their faces, joining in on the applause that fills the room. Then she takes a half step behind Kate and places her right hand on Kate's hip. She guides Kate forward with her. Together, they take a knee, joined hands still raised where all can see and all can know what she tells them this day. 

I am Diana, daughter of Hippolyta and Philippus, and this daughter of Catherine and Jacob Kane is my bonded heart, my partner, my consort, Katherine Kane of the Unrelenting Dawn. 

Come what may.

 

The Beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have spitboishine to thank for this ending. While it wasn't quite what she(?) wanted, her request did solve my conundrum with how to end this one shot epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who came on this journey with me, to the readers who floored me every time with their insight and comments and kept me humbled and motivated. What started off as sheer fun and idle curiosity turned into something my heart bled red all over and I have zero regrets on it.


End file.
